


Misplace My Heart

by jacklalonde



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, Fluff, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Skinny Dipping, Underage Drinking, you know the drill
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-13
Updated: 2016-07-21
Packaged: 2018-07-23 16:05:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 27,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7470123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jacklalonde/pseuds/jacklalonde
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Keith has ruined Lance's chances of a collegiate tennis career, the Galra have risen and plan to terrorize the innocent for power, and detectives Allura and Coran recruit five boys to be their eyes on the inside—the defenders of Altea University—Voltron.</p><p>(or, my self-indulgent klance college AU extravaganza)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. part one

**Author's Note:**

> My sweetheart wanted me to name this fic "Fucking Keith: A Double Entendre" ...unbelievable.
> 
> Anyway hi! Welcome to the inevitable Voltron college AU that nobody is surprised I'm writing. This is going to be a five part series, with part one (hopefully, this took me forever to write) being the longest installment. I'll be posting the next within a week, and we'll go from there!  
> A few quick things you should know:  
> -In this fic, Pidge is a trans boy. I'll be using he/him pronouns.  
> -A small warning (for future chapters): there might be a small amount of description of blood/gore. So proceed with caution!  
> -the title of this fic is from the song Going Under by the Dodos (a very good song)
> 
> edit: changed the summary for this fic. Things got complex reeeal quick. I feel like this new one summarizes things up much better :)
> 
> All right! I hope you enjoy :)

  
Lance watches a few strands of hair fall in Keith’s face as he stares down at the screen of his phone. The light from the screen has delicately illuminated the tops of Keith’s cheeks and the tip of his nose, eyelashes blinking a few times, scrunching his nose for a second before reaching up to itch it. Lance lets his eyes wander for just a moment more, before he focuses back on the hair hanging above Keith’s eyes. First those few hairs, then the hair that curves around his ear, then the hair that falls down the back of his neck. Keith’s eyes suddenly flit up to meet Lance’s. And as icy heat rushes to his cheeks, Lance overdramatically rolls his eyes.  
He still cannot believe his roommate has a fucking mullet.

They met about six hours ago. Lance, his parents and the two eldest of his five siblings had flown practically across the country to help move him in. They had graciously taken his suitcases as their own carry-ons on the plane, helped carry his futon up three flights of stairs to his dorm room, and finally dumped everything he owned in an empty and unfamiliar room. Lance had moved in on the last possible day, at basically the last possible minute. And now everything he deemed necessary to bring across the country lie on his unmade bed, and the air around him felt heavy with a creeping finality. After stalling for as long as he could, Lance kissed every cheek, said his goodbyes, and then cried for an embarrassingly long time while hugging his mom.  
But after composing himself and listening to his family’s footsteps fade away down the hall as they rushed to catch their flight, he shakily sat down on his bed and stared blankly at the empty bed across the small dorm. He’d never met his roommate before, hadn't seen any trace of him so far. Never even talked to him. All I knew was the name that had been assigned to live with him for the year— he thinks it was Keith. _Keith_. Lance whispers it to himself. Doesn’t exactly roll off the tongue. And he’s never had any good experience with a Keith in his life.  
Well, whatever. Even if the kid is an asshole, Lance is sure they can get along somehow. If not, he won’t have to worry—Lance is 100% sure that in no time he will be drowning in ladies that want to be with him and guys that want to be him. If Altea University was an oyster, he would be the well-dressed, quick-witted, unbearably handsome pearl.  
“Hi.” Lance whips upright from where he was slouched over in dreamland on the edge of his bed. There’s a person in his room, with a duffle bag over each shoulder and a rolling suitcase at their feet. Lance locks eyes with them, and immediately is met with...a mullet. There is a boy with a somehow flattering mullet standing in his room. And then it registers, and Lance leans back on his bed, unable to stop his face from automatically registering a look of absolute disgust.  
This is _The Keith_ . The Keith who gave him a reason to hate all other Keiths. It’s _The Fucking Keith._  
Lance clears his throat. “...Well. I sure didn’t think I’d be seeing you again, _Keith_.” Lance practically spits his name, grimacing up at the boy in front of him. Keith raises an eyebrow.  
“...What?”  
“Oh, come on. You know exactly who I am.” Lance says, crossing his arms. Keith simply blinks. Wait... _really?_ Keith is really going to pretend that he doesn’t remember? After everything? The _monster._ “It’s me...Lance. We were in the statewide high school tennis championship together. You knocked my doubles partner out and cost me a career.”  
Keith is staring into space, either analyzing the blank wall behind Lance’s head or trying to remember. _How could he forget?!_  
Apparently it slowly dawns on him, because Keith finally looks him in the eye. “Oh, yeah. Lance. You were in the replacement team when Boulder High couldn’t show. Yeah, I remember you.”  
Lance’s mouth falls open. The _audacity._ He’s not wrong, but Lance doesn’t need to be reminded that he and his partner originally didn’t qualify for the state matches. But they ended up there, didn’t they? And then this _mullet kid_ sends a ball straight into his partner’s head, gives him a concussion, and then pleads to the ref that he “tripped”. And just to kick Lance while he’s down, this _Keith_ then goes on to win the whole fucking championship.  
“Yeah, well. Thanks a lot for that.” Lance can’t stop his arms from shaking with anger as he crosses them tighter. Keith turns away and places his bags on the other bed. Lance bores his eyes into the back of Keith’s head, silently acting out his bewilderment. This cannot be real. There has to be hidden cameras somewhere, and he’s about to be on Altea U’s new prank show or something. His arch nemesis from across the country happens to choose the college he chose and now they _happen_ to room together. This can’t be real. What deity did he piss off for this to suddenly become a thing that is actually happening?  
“Is all of that junk yours?” Keith asks flatly, his back still turned to Lance and beginning to place the clothes he’s brought into the small drawers on his side of the dorm. From what Lance can see, it looks like it’s a pile of merely white and black v-neck t-shirts.  
“ _Junk?”_ Lance narrows his eyes even though Keith isn’t looking. He glances behind himself at the pile of things on his bed. He then stands quickly and begins sorting through his stuff. Junk? It was necessary to bring his collection of snow globes from every beach he’s ever visited. And it was more than necessary to bring his traditional Cuban masks — they were a gift from his abuela! He’s not just gonna leave them at home across the country to collect dust like the worst grandson in the universe. He will proudly display them on his walls...where he can’t see them at night. Because honestly they look like demons. But they’re not _junk._  
Lance needs to say something witty, fast. “Junk? None of this is junk. But…” Lance searches for anything, _anything._ “Junk is what I’d call that jacket over there.”  
Keith turns and his eyes follow to where Lance is pointing. A red jacket is hung neatly on one of the bedposts. It’s easily one of the most hideous things Lance has seen, and easy pickings for insults. A huge white collar, an unflattering yellow stripe across the middle, and...is it cropped? Horrible Keith would own a horrible jacket.  
Keith simply glares and snatches it, and Lance lets a smirk settle on his face.  
   
And then they didn’t talk for the rest of the night.  
Classes start tomorrow, and Lance was planning on enjoying his last night of guaranteed house parties across campus. The plan was to 1) go out, 2) make some bros, 3) meet some chicks, and 4) claim his role as Coolest Guy on Campus. But just as he was headed out, his mom called. Already. She asked him if he’d eaten, if he’d unpacked, and then finally about his roommate. And after his footsteps had slowed and all of his motivation to get his mom to stop talking was gone, Lance ended up crying in a stairwell while venting to his mom about how it was Keith. The _Keith_ that ruined his life. And then he told her that he couldn’t do this, that he wanted to come home. She soothed him the best she could, but then started to cry when she told Lance about a mean man that sat next to her on the plane home. As he sobbed into the phone at his ear only to hear his mother crying too, he could at least blame his mother for giving him the stress-crying gene, or whatever.  
By the time he told his mom he loved her and ended the call, it was too late to even try to go out.  
So Lance trudged back to his dorm, satisfied with his new plan of curling up with his laptop and watching Criminal Minds until consciousness leaves him.  
Keith is still in the same spot when Lance arrives, his side of the dorm room decorated already. If you could call it that. There’s a Cowboy Bebop poster above his bed, next to a huge drawing of a desert canyon. His bedspread is a simple black and there doesn’t seem to be any sort of other personal touches to the room. No picture frames. No “Keep Calm and Study On” wall decoration. Just a stupid Keith on his stupid phone.  
   
And so Lance rolled his eyes at Keith fifteen minutes later and redirected his attention back to Criminal Minds. The criminal’s mind in this episode is as fucked up as usual. Lance sighs to himself, his breaths still a little shaky from crying out in that stairwell. But _oh_ , the criminal is doing fucked up shit again. This never gets old.  
Finally, the light on the desk next to Keith’s bed turns off, and Mullet Boy gets underneath his covers and faces away from Lance. Lance could’ve sworn Keith was still wearing his day clothes. Well, whatever. Maybe he’s too tired to change into anything else. Too tired from being the Worst Human on Earth.  
Lance gives up on his show and falls asleep sometime after, but only after angrily listening to Keith gently snore for an hour and apologizing to whatever higher power that caused this to happen.  
   
Lance can feel someone watching him. Or maybe that’s the light from the window hitting his eyes. Ugh, he’s so tired. Does he really have to wake up now? ...He’ll wake up when his mom calls him down for breakfast. Yeah...he’ll just sleep until then…  
“What’s your major?” A voice asks above him. Lance flinches, eyes opening. Keith is above his head, beads of sweat across his forehead, eyes boring into him.  
“What?!” Lance grips the covers and pulls them up to his chin. “What…why are you all sweaty?”  
Keith pulls back, and Lance finally looks him up and down. Keith is wearing one of his black v-necks, soaked with sweat. Keith looks down, and adjusts one of the buttons on his...fingerless gloves? Does he just...wear those? Is he the leader of the Tryhard Badass Club?  
“I train in the morning,” Keith replies. Yep. Tryhard Badass Club. “I just got back.”  
What could he possible be training for? Lance then looks towards the Captain America digital clock he’d brought home, sitting amongst his things on the dresser.  
“It’s...7:30 in the morning…”  
Keith shrugs. “I get up early. I’m studying physical therapy, by the way. What’s your major?”  
It’s Lance’s turn to blink up at him. He has to say something quick-witted, something that shows Keith he’s still way cooler than he’ll ever be. Even when he's...hiding under his covers wearing only his boxers.  
“I'm surprised you're not majoring in ruining lives of future tennis stars. Heard that industry is really growing.” Lance gives himself a mental high five for that one. Even this early in the morning, he’s still got it. “Why do you care what my major is anyway?”  
“I was curious? We’re roommates, after all. I should at least know a little bit about you.” Keith says. Lance glares at him for a moment.  
“Journalism. But I still play tennis, by the way. You didn't fully murder the love for my favorite sport.”  
“Tryouts for the tennis team are today. Are you gonna go?” Keith asks. He's already turned away, stretching out his...surprisingly _toned_ arms. Lance certainly didn’t notice _that_ about Keith yesterday.  
Lance has to draw his attention away from the muscles in front of him. It’s just another tactic for Keith to try to make Lance jealous...or something. “Tryouts…” Lance drawls. Wait. “Today?! Fuck, I forgot!” Lance kicks his covers away and scrambles to his feet. “I’d been counting down the days all summer, and I fucking forgot!” He rubs the back of his neck, trying to calm the panic that is rising quickly, not fully noticing Keith’s surprised glance down to his boxers. Then Lance feels Keith’s eyes on him. He _wanted_ this to happen, didn’t he? “You're just telling me this so I'll try out and you can sabotage me again! What, this time you'll stand next to the court with a giant fan and try to blow the ball away from my racket? Not this time, Keith, I'm not letting you take me down again!”  
“I don't even play tennis any more,” Keith retorts. “So why would I bother?”  
Lance pauses. “Well, what were you up so early training for then?”  
Keith tips his chin up a little. “I'm trying out for the dance team today.”  
Lance raises his eyebrows slowly as Keith stands. They've mirrored each other's posture, crossed arms and popped hip.  
“You dance?”  
“Yeah, I do.” Keith, a dancer. Well, he could certainly move on the court...Lance can somehow picture it. He doesn’t want to.  
“Anything else?”  
“I fence.”  
“With a sword?”  
“Is there any other way?”  
Lance glares. His stomach rumbles in the silence.  
“ _Well._ I’m gonna go get some food. Some nourishment to help me ace tryouts today.” He reaches for the first t-shirt in this drawer and a pair of jeans. He then grabs his bag and an Altea U baseball hat that had made its home among the rest of his unpacked clothes on the floor. He pulls the hat on his head and turns back to face Keith. He’s adjusting the straps on his gloves again. Those stupid gloves. Stupid mullet. Stupid eyes.  
“Maybe I’ll be so great at tryouts they’ll just make me the captain right then and there.”  
“I doubt that.” Keith deadpans. Lance lifts his chin and closes the door behind him. An angry animal is now trying to escape his stomach. Time for food.  
   
Altea University on a Monday morning is not the most exciting place to be. But for the other people who are somehow cursed to be awake this early in the morning, there’s three dining halls on campus that he can go to. If he’s got nothing better to do before class, he can at least eat. After all, Lance has heard that their waffles are a thing of miracles.  
Okay, so the green may have been empty, but there are plenty of people bustling around in the campus cafeteria at this hour. Lance swipes his pass and gets in line, mouth falling open at just the sheer amount of food that awaits. He is definitely going to gain a muffin top if he eats like this every day. Well, whatever, it’s his first day. He can indulge.  
He settles a light breakfast of a stack of pancakes, a bowl full of strawberries and cream, two waffles, a plate of eggs the size of his head, and a deadly amount of bacon on the side. Nothing too crazy.  
Lance is getting a bottle of orange juice when he spots a tray that has even taller of a food mountain than his own, sitting on one of the counters. Next to it is a beefy guy struggling to operate the cereal dispenser. He twists the nozzle contraption fifteen times before crying out as a mountain of cereal pours into his bowl and then onto the counter. The guy glances around himself, sees Lance looking at him ten feet away with a raised eyebrow, and bolts with his tray. Lance watches him run towards the seating area, but then something blocks his line of sight.  
Her golden waves of hair are tied in a loose ponytail, her face perfectly contoured even this early in the morning. Lance can hear the wedding bells ringing in the distance. Or maybe he’s about to faint.  
The point is that she’s _perfect_. Lance can barely calm his heartbeat. This is it. Now’s the time to properly woo his first college woman. Lance leaves his tray next to the cereal machine and saunters up to the golden goddess, who’s chatting with two other girls. Not quite goddess-like, but still. The three of them together are enough to make his knees threaten to give out.  
“—And so I had to recircuit the whole thing, nearly cost me the whole competition. Thankfully I had time to rewire the main circuit board, which—”  
Lance clears his throat, braces his hand against the pillar next to him. He’s ready.  
“Girl, I think you might’ve just rewired my circuit board.” The three girls turn to stare at him, all with varying degrees of shock on their faces. He was given so little to work with, and yet he stilled pulled it off. Lance gives the blonde his most charming smile as she stares at him. She’s shocked by his suaveness, _of course_. That’s why she hasn’t said anything. The sweat on his hands suddenly betrays the grip on the pillar he was leaning against, and he trips forward, landing on his hands and knees. The girls giggle to themselves, and as Lance swallows his pride and pushes himself back to his feet, his dream-goddess is gone. Damn. Curse you, sweaty fingers.  
And so Lance retreats back to his tray, only to find the beefy guy is back, this time accompanied by a kid two full feet shorter than both of them, perched on top of the counter, screwdriver in hand, going at the cereal machine.  
Lance walks slowly over to them. The big guy glances in his direction before doing a double take, and instantly Lance sees his shoulders raise, fear in his eyes.  
“Look, I know you saw me bail on this machine earlier. But look! I got someone to fix the machine. Now please don’t get me in trouble.”  
Lance walks closer, and the guy curls in himself, closing his eyes. He stays like that until Lance picks up the tray next to him.  
“Nah, you’re cool, dude. But hey, do you need any help with that, little guy?” Lance asks. He then watches the smaller kid’s head turn. His brow is set and he looks like he’s about to tell Lance to fuck off, but his attempt to look angry is actually kind of adorable. This kid looks like he can’t be older than fourteen.  
“I’m capable,” he says, pushes up his massive glasses, and then turns back to unscrewing the side panel of the machine.  
“Sorry, he’s focused. That’s Pidge, by the way.” The big guy says, gesturing next to him. “I’m Hunk. Your first impression of me was at my weakest point, sorry about that.” He looks back at the cereal machine next to him, then reaches out a hand to shake. Lance shakes it, unable to hold back a smile.  
“Hunk? Nice to meet you, Hunk.” It’s a weird name, but it’s not as bad as _Keith_. Nothing could be worse than Keith. “You too, Pidge.” Pidge makes an affirmative noise as the panel comes off and he begins tinkering inside of the machine. “Name’s Lance. Are you two freshman?”  
Hunk’s eyes widen. “Yeah! Pidge and I are roommates.” Hunk leans a little closer. “Pidge told me last night that he skipped two grades in high school. The kid’s _sixteen!_ ” Pidge then whips his head around to glare at Hunk, pointing the screwdriver at his nose.  
“Hunk, work on your whispering voice.”  
“Got it. Now, Lance, I couldn’t help but notice you took quite a fall there. What was that all about?”  
Lance rubs the back of his neck. “Oh...nothing. Just. Doing some last minute push ups before I gain five pounds from all this food.”  
“Fixed it!” Pidge cries as he screws the panel back on. “I’m a lot better at fixing computers. Not so much cereal dispensers.”  
“Well, if it’s your first time it’s your personal best.” Hunk says, immediately taking an empty bowl from his tray and dispensing a mountain of cereal into his bowl. “Let’s go eat, I’m starving.”  
Pidge scoots off of the top of the counter. As they turn and begin to walk away, Lance grips his tray. He feels like he’s back in elementary school. He can’t just follow these guys back to their table. What if they think he’s a loser with no friends? ...Well, he is a loser with no friends. At least right now. But he won’t be if he follows them to their table! No. He can’t do that.  
Hunk turns around, flashing him a toothy smile. “Coming, Lance?”  
Pidge pushes his glasses up his nose and smiles softly. Lance feels a wave of relief wash over him.  
“Yeah, I’m coming!”  
   
It’s while Hunk is slurping up his third bowl of unappetizing green jello that Lance learns that he and Hunk have their first class together in an hour.  
“Bro, this is fate! I knew I’d find a friend to stick around.” Hunk says with another huge smile. Lance smiles right back. Hunk is almost too good to be true. The deity that gave him Keith must now be trying to make it up to him.  
“Pidge, what classes are you taking?” Lance asks, shoving another strip of bacon in his mouth. Pidge is chewing on his bottom lip, typing away at the laptop he apparently always keeps in his bag. The fact that there are people socializing at tables all around them apparently means nothing to him.  
“Pidge.” Hunk repeats. Pidge blinks up at them.  
“Oh, sorry Lance. I’m taking sophomore level classes. Doubt we’ll have anything together.”  
“So you’re a little genius, huh?” Lance asks. Pidge nearly shrugs, but Lance can see a hint of a smile.  
“What’re you doing on your computer, bud?” asks Hunk. Pidge looks at him a little sheepishly, then sighs and glances between both of them.  
“My mom asked me if I could hack Target.com and get her more coupons.” Lance nearly snorts his orange juice. Tears come to Hunk’s eyes, he’s laughing so hard. After a second, Pidge runs a hand through his messy hair and starts laughing too.  
When Lance notices Hunk has stopped laughing, Lance follows his line of sight. He has to blink away the tears, but his eyes finally settle on the entrance to the dining hall. Then he understands. A group of girls have walked in, each with matching black windbreaker jackets and yoga pants. The girl at the center of the pack has her dark hair tied in two braids that fall down her back, thick hoop earrings in her ears, and is softly smiling right at him. Well _that’s_ why he’s noticed her — she’s still looking right at him! _Nice_. No, wait, she’s looking at Hunk.  
Lance looks at Hunk, then back at the girl. Then back again. They seem to be having a conversation through just smiles, lingering glances and waving their fingers.  
“Is that your girlfriend?” Lance asks loudly. Pidge looks up from his computer at that.  
Hunk finally turns away from her. For a few seconds. “Um, what? No. Her? What? No. That’s Shay. She’s a Rockette.”  
“She’s a Rockette?” Pidge asks, bewildered. He stands up at his chair, craning his neck to get a better look. “Like...the dancers from New York? What are they doing here?”  
“Not a Rockette, a _Rockette_ , Pidge.” Lance corrects. Pidge just stares at him. “It’s the name of Altea’s female wrestling team. Right, Hunk?” Hunk turns back to them again.  
“Yeah, that’s them right there. They’re called the Rockettes because they’re strong. Like The Rock. You know...Dwayne? But also...girls. Rock-ette.” Hunk seems to have confused himself by explaining that. “It’s not their official name or anything, but that’s what everyone calls them. And...that’s Shay.” Lance looks back at Hunk’s girl again. As her pack makes their way closer to their table, Lance takes her in. She took off her jacket while they were talking and...holy shit, she’s _ripped._ And her light eyes against her dark skin...Lance gets it now. Lance gets why they’re staring.  
“Hunk, how do you know that regulation hottie?” Lance asks. Hunk looks at Lance accusingly for a second. “Just asking, Hunk. She’s all yours.”  
Hunk turns away, sighing dreamily. “I went to wrestling camp here over the summer, and she was one of the trainers. We...kinda hit it off. But she’s a junior. And like...too sweet. And nice. And beautiful…”  
“Hunk, you’re drooling,” Pidge warns. Hunk blinks, closing his mouth.  
Hunk sets his posture then, and stares down at the table. “I have to make the wrestling team. They scrimmage the Rockettes all the time, and I’d be able to see her all the time. But her brother is head of the team, and I don’t think he likes me. Besides, I’m just...not that good.”  
No, Lance will not have that. “Oh, come on Hunk! Want us to cheer you on at tryouts?! I’ll make a sign and everything. And I’ll be front row yelling—” Lance stands up at the table. “goooooOOOOOOO HUNK! HUNK HUNK HE’S OUR MAN—” Hunk reaches over and pulls Lance back into his seat. “Wow, got quite a grip there, bud. That’s the kind of strength they’ll need on the wrestling team!”  
Hunk looks like he might pass out. “I don’t need anyone to cheer me on, Lance. But thank you.” He rubs a hand over his face. For someone who physically looks like he could crush you, Hunk sure does get flustered a lot. Finally, Hunk starts picking at his food again. “Do you want us there at your tennis tryouts today?”  
Hunk must be joking. Lance is ready to start laughing, but Hunk is softly smiling at him. Lance had only mentioned his tryouts in passing. And now Hunk is offering to be there for him…?  
Even Pidge looks up from his computer again. Lance’s heart practically hurts with fondness for these strangers.  
“Uh, wow, guys. That’d be really nice.”  
   
“NICE ONE LANCE!” Hunk screams. He and Lance are simply walking to the tennis courts. Hunk has been practicing his mid-tryout encouragements the entire way over. “LOOK AT THAT BACKHAND! THAT UPPERCUT!”  
“Uppercut? That’s not a tennis term, Hunk.” Lance laughs. He and Hunk had spent much of the day together, through their first class together and then after Lance’s second. Hunk is hilarious, and the fact that he’s so genuine with everything is...new. Lance grew up in a huge family where love was always shown through well-constructed, playful insults. But Hunk is just...real. He’s not acting or trying to banter with him. Hunk is so genuinely nice that he’s actually coming to watch Lance try out. Even when Pidge said he had some things to do and declined, Hunk just shrugged it off and said he’d come anyway.  
It had bothered Lance for a second, before Hunk told him that he thinks Pidge just prefers to be alone sometimes. And Lance doesn’t fully get it, but Pidge is one of the two maybe-friends he’s got so far.  
The tennis courts are next to one of Altea U’s most prized possessions—the football stadium. And as they walk past the gates Lance sneaks a peak at all of the guys with rippling abs already running their drills. Lance reaches up to feel his very un-rippling flat stomach instinctively. He always knew he’d never be into football. You can’t look like a child that’s been stretched by a taffy puller and be taken seriously out there. And you have to willingly allow yourself to be knocked to the ground by a stranger’s massive shoulders. Who the hell would want that?  
So, back in high school, Lance found tennis instead. Agility and intelligence, that’s his game. And trash talk. Oh, how he lives for the trash talk.  
Hunk and Lance part their ways for the moment, and Hunk rushes to go sit on the bleachers in front of the courts. It’s him and maybe five other people. The others seem to be the girlfriends of the boys who are trying out. Lance sighs. Well, Hunk will have to do.  
Lance throws his stuff to the ground, takes a swig of water, adjusts his hat, then carefully takes out his racket from it’s bag. He spins it around in his fingers, the grip familiar, the tape still worn in the same places. He then turns and gives a salute back to Hunk, who indulgently pretends to swoon.  
   
_Alright, Lance, this is it. Don’t fuck this up. Keith doesn’t play tennis anymore, and you’re going to make the team. You’re going to make it out of the pure power of knowing that Keith doesn’t play tennis anymore._  
“Hey, are you here for tryouts? Can I get a name?” Lance turns towards the voice, and moves his hand to block the light. Then, within a second, ice travels up his body, freezing him in place, and he drops his racket.  
“Shiro?” Lance says just as it’s hit him. No, the light has blinded him and this is some sort of panic-induced hallucination. There’s a seemingly angelic halo of light around him as the sun has backlit his shoulders, illuminating the ends of his black and grey hair. Lance doesn’t think he’s breathing. Shiro...Shiro is Lance’s _hero_ . He’s been the national collegiate singles tennis champion for two years running, and he’s only a Junior. He’s one of the reasons why Lance even chose to go to Altea University. And he’s _here?_ Hosting tryouts? Shouldn’t he be rolling around in his scholarship money right now?  
Shiro’s broad chest huffs a quick laugh. The scar that runs across his nose moves up slightly as he smiles.  
“That’s me.” Lance feels his stomach sink slightly as Shiro runs a hand through the front of his hair with his prosthetic arm. Lance’s heart jumps a little—he’d forgotten about Shiro’s arm. Lance had read all the hundreds of articles about the boy in the bus accident that cost him his arm. That’s how he got the wicked scar across his nose, too. But even when he was so beat up, Shiro wouldn’t settle for being someone people could just be sorry for. He wouldn’t accept being told he’ll never play tennis again. That’s when he got an advanced prosthetic arm and took enough physical therapy to learn to play again. And then he won the championship again, later that year.  
Lance is still staring up at him. Oh God, say something.  
“I-I’m Lance. I’d...really like to play on this team.” ...Good enough. Shiro reaches his hand out to shake it and Lance can’t help but hesitate. Is he really going to shake the hand of his all-time hero right now? Is that really a thing that is going to happen?  
It does happen. And then Lance runs warm up laps around the court with the other freshman, all the while screaming behind closed lips.  
Lance plays a boy who appears to be really hungover even though it’s a Monday afternoon and another one that’s slowly stumbling around like he’s just smoked enough for a village, and smells like he actually has. Lance could have won that match with his racket in his mouth.  
So Lance keeps serving and keeps winning, all the while Shiro and a couple of other upperclassmen walk around the courts with clipboards, scoring him. Lance makes sure to watch Shiro’s expression like a hawk after every time he serves. So far, he’s gotten two small nods and a somewhat surprised expression. He doesn’t know what to think of that.  
Later on Lance is fed a million balls from a machine and easily shows off with each hit. He can hear Hunk yelling “NICE ONE LANCE!” followed by a single-person applause from the bleachers behind him after every hit. He shuffles to the right, hits a ball that’s ventured dangerously close to the ground, letting out a small grunt. He leaps into the air, smacking the life out of a ball that would’ve snuck past someone half an inch shorter.  
By the end of it all he’s covered in sweat and the sun is beginning to set. Lance leans against the chain-link fence at the edge of the courts for a moment and wipes sweat from his face with his t-shirt, accidentally knocking the baseball hat from his head. When he’s finally convinced himself to move his sore legs to pick it up, he moves the t-shirt from his face only to see mechanical fingers already plucking the hat from the ground.  
“Nice job today, Lance.” Shiro says. Lance lets his eyes slowly reach Shiro’s, his heartrate kicking into gear again. The look on Shiro’s face is so gentle he might cry. _Shiro_ thinks he did a good job?  
Yep, tears are coming. Lance averts his eyes and takes the hat from Shiro’s fingers.  
“Thank you.” He then turns and starts to walk away. He can’t let Shiro see him like this. He will not be reduced to a blubbering baby in front of his hero.  
“The team roster will be posted online within a week. See you around!” Shiro calls after him. Lance turns to wave, far away enough that Shiro can’t see the water pooling in his eyes. And then he rushes out of the courts, into the the waiting arms of Hunk.  
“You were amazing!” Hunk cries. “You’re so talented, bro! I would’ve never guessed it. I mean, of course I would, but still! You just went to _town_ on that ball. ...Lance?”  
“That was Shiro that I was just talking to.” Lance says. He wants to collapse.  
“Oh, yeah, I recognize him from the news last year. Really inspiring, with his arm and everything.”  
“Oooooh man, I’m gonna pass out.”  
Hunk supports his arm, holding it up. “Let’s go get some food in you. The heat must’ve been brutal out there. There’s a smoothie place in the commons, come on kid.”  
   
As they’re passing the arts building half an hour later with smoothies in hand, Lance sees someone walking across a path in the green that diverges with theirs and leads towards the building. Lance’s body seems to sense him before his eyes really get a good look. So much for riding the high of meeting his hero and rocking tryouts.  
“ _Keith._ ”  
Hunk tips his head a little. “Who’s Keith?”  
“Him.” Lance points, which makes Keith turn his head towards them. Ugggghhh. He has his gloved hands in his pockets, wearing that terrible jacket. “On your way to dance team tryouts, Keith?” Lance asks.  
They’ve met in the middle of the path now. Keith looks like he’d rather be anywhere else. The feeling is mutual. “Yeah, Lance. Did you fall on your face at tennis? It’s all red.”  
Lance reaches up to touch his boiling hot cheeks. “No, Keith. It went _swimmingly_. If anyone’s gonna fall on their face it’s going to be you when you...try to do a padeburay.”  
“It’s _pas de bourree_ , and that’s ballet, not hip-hop, Lance. Wait, how do you even know what a pas de bourree is?”  
Lance feels his face heating up even more. “Because I’m...educated, Keith!”  
“Hi, Keith! I’m Hunk.” Hunk has stepped directly in front of him. Lance just cranes his neck around Hunk’s shoulder’s, maintaining eye contact with Keith’s stupid eyes while Hunk tries to intervene. “I’m sure you’ve both had hard days and we don’t want you to be late for your tryouts, so we’re going to civilly keep walking and drinking smoothies.” Hunk’s hand on Lance’s back is sturdy enough to push him along the path, and Lance is forced to turn his head to keep glaring. “Good luck!” Hunk calls over his shoulder.  
Once they’re out of earshot and Keith has walked into the building, Hunk stops, angrily sips his smoothie and then gestures wildly.  
“What was that all about?”  
“That’s my roommate. Keith.”  
“ _That’s_ your roommate? You guys act like you hate each other.”  
“We do!”  
“Then...why don’t you get a new one?”  
Lance pauses a moment. Hunk is right. He doesn't have to deal with Mullet if he doesn’t want to.  
Hunk watches Lance’s expression change to pure elation. He anxiously sips his smoothie again. “I would give it a week, Lance. Maybe you guys will warm up to each other.”  
Lance raises a hand to his chest, offended. “He’s my _mortal enemy_ , Hunk. He ruined my tennis career in high school and now he’s my fucking roommate. If I can get rid of him, I will.”  
Lance’s sips down the rest of his smoothie, satisfied. Hunk looks distraught. “Maybe you could just...try talking it out?” Hunk tries. “Maybe that’ll clear the air between you.”  
   
There’s no way he can clear the air between them. After a wonderful day with his new friend, seeing Keith scowl at him as soon as he walks into the room makes his no-fucking-thanks meter already begin to steadily rise.  
But still, Lance takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. “So my friend, Hunk, told me we should try to talk about what happened.” Keith slowly takes his eyes off the book in his lap. Stupid Keith reading stupid books. “And I think that’s a terrible idea, because we both know exactly what happened.” Keith shuts his book. Lance leans back. Wait, are they really about to talk this out?  
Keith sighs. “It’s not my fault that you didn’t win the championship, okay? I tripped and the ball hit your partner. He should’ve been paying more attention.”  
Lance scoffs. “You sent it right into his temple!”  
“It was an accident!”  
Lance leans back even further. Keith actually yelled at him that time.  
They’re quiet for a little while, as Lance walks over and sits on his bed. A couple unpacked suitcases still sit at his feet.  
“I don’t like you, Keith.” He says.  
“Because of what happened over a year ago?”  
“Uh, yes!”  
“I just told you it was an accident!” Keith stares angrily at him for a while, before he grabs his book again and lays back down on his bed. “If I could just give you the trophy so you’d shut up, I would.”  
Lance crosses his arms and flops down onto his bed. Somehow, the fact that Keith had said that makes him feel a little better. But not by much. His no-fucking-thanks meter is still off the charts.  
   
Later that night Keith shushes him when Lance absentmindedly begins to hum, and Lance feels his hatred for Mullet Boy return right back to normal.  
“You want to fucking _go_ , Keith?” Lance raises both his arms, waiting.  
Keith merely rolls his eyes and goes back to his homework.  
   
Lance angrily huffs and sits back down. He will give this one week. One week and that is _it_.  
   
Over the next seventy-two hours, Lance finally starts getting into the swing of things. Keith wakes him up too early when he comes home from his workout routine every morning, Lance heads out and gets breakfast with Hunk and Pidge, and then goes to class. Lance talks to a few more people in his classes, who laugh at his jokes but seem to keep their distance. Lance doesn’t mind too much though. He’s already found Pidge and Hunk, anyway. When they aren’t together they’re sending memes through their group chat, Facetiming on their way to class on opposite sides of campus, or making plans to meet up again. He’s found his bros, he’s found the good places to eat on campus, and the last thing he has to find is a college woman who doesn’t immediately reject his advances.  
   
“A party?!” Lance asks in delighted disbelief. “You want to go to a party, Hunk?” _That’s_ how Lance is going to find his dream girl!  
Hunk immediately struggles to defend himself. Lance follows the spoon he’s waving around in his hand as he talks, fearing for the green jello that’s balancing precariously on it. “Um, well obviously not. But you have been begging to go to one every waking moment of your life, so I'm offering to accompany you while you indulge yourself. Not because I want to. But because I'm such a good friend.” Lance tips his head.  
“Awwww, you can't fool me, big guy.”  It’s almost dark, and most of the people in the commons area have either left to get ready for the ragers tonight or have gone back to their dorms. But for the rest of the remaining students around tables with friends or with laptops, Lance scoops his hands around his mouth and screams “We're gonna get tuuuuuuuUUURNT TONIGHT!”  
“Lance! _Campus police,_ ” Hunk hisses.  
“Oh shush, Hunk.” Lance says, reluctantly sitting down again. “Hey, Pidge.” The younger boy finally looks up from the iPad in his lap. Apparently he hadn't felt the need to look up twenty seconds ago when Lance was screaming. Someday he’ll prove himself worthy of Pidge’s full attention. “Tonight. You, me, and Hunk. Frat party. Pizza. Beer. Girls. You in?”  
Pidge pushes his glasses up his nose and pretends to contemplate it for a moment.  
“I've got work to do tonight, Lance. I'll see you at breakfast tomorrow, though. And I’ll bring Advil for your hangover.”  
“Oh come oooooon, Pidge. Lil’ Pidge. Pidgey.”  
“Yeah, Pidge, it could be fun!” Hunk chimes in. “Maybe you can hack the frat’s Netflix account and get us all a few free months.”  
Lance lays his head down on the table. “I will paaaaay you to go, Pidge.”  
Pidge sighs. “....How much.”  
Lance whips his head up. Pidge has an eyebrow raised, waiting. Oh my God, Pidge is actually letting him make a deal. Oh my god. “Thirty bucks.”  
Pidge closes his laptop. “Thirty bucks and you’re buying Chinese for lunch tomorrow.”  
Lance reaches across the table and grabs Pidge’s hand to shake vigorously. He laughs, his goofy smile shining through as he tries to pull away.  
“You’ve got a deal!”  
   
Lance texts his mom that he’ll call her later, that he’s got some insane studying to do. Then, with a sigh, he tosses his phone back to his bed. He and his mom are close, but not close enough to tell her that he’s about to go to his first college party and probably drink very, very irresponsibly.  
Instead of guilting himself out of it, Lance turns back to his mirror. Only a few more last minute touches. He runs his hands through his hair, making it perfectly disheveled. Lance then looks through his outfit one last time: the only pair of jeans that _really_ fit him, a t-shirt layered with his all-time favorite hoodie, and his Altea U hat, of course, on backwards for this special occasion. Lance pops a hip in the mirror, then hears an exhale of a laugh behind him. Lance turns and immediately sticks his tongue out at Keith, who he thought was asleep with his earbuds in.  
What does Keith know about fashion anyway? He's wearing that hideous jacket and skinny jeans again.  
Lance moves towards the door. “Well, Keith, I'm off to hang out with my _friends_ . At a _party_. Yep, that's right.” The Mullet simply moves one hand out from behind his head to flip him off. Lance waves a few fingers back at him. “Hasta la later!”  
Lance closes the door behind him, takes a deep breath, and smiles.  
His first real college party. With his first real college friends. Let’s see: he’ll dominate beer pong, make out with some babes, become the Coolest Guy on Campus. Sounds like a pretty solid plan.  
As Lance walks down the stairwell, he suddenly almost trips over his own feet in excitement. _What if they have a keg stand?_  
   
They had a keg stand. And now Lance can barely stand. He's resorted to just animal-like yelling when he gets a point in beer pong, but apparently all the people crowded around the table are getting a kick out of that. The music is too loud for him to really care how obnoxiously loud he’s being, anyway. Lance bangs his fists on his chest after another perfect throw. How drunk is he? Who _cares?_ Lance is sure Hunk and Pidge are having a grand old time somewhere in the crowded house, and Lance can just call them when he’s done playing and wants to go home. It's fine, this is _great!_ Whooaaa, who’s bringing around shots?  
   
Keith stares at the phone while it rings the first four times. It’s none of his business who’s calling Lance’s phone. He forgot it. It’s his own fault. But finally, the ringtone keeps going off and Keith can’t take it. He rushes to his feet and over to Lance’s bed. He’ll just see who it is, he won’t answer. There’s no harm in that. But the photo that appears on the screen is of the only other freshman in his economics class. ...Pidge, was it? The genius kid with the glasses. How could a quiet kid like that possibly be friends with _Lance?_  
Fine, he’ll answer it. Whatever.  
“Hello?”  
“Lance, where are you? Hunk took one shot by accident and now he thinks he’s dru—I THOUGHT IT WAS APPLE JUICE I THOUGHT THEY WERE BRINGING AROUND SMALL GLASSES OF APPLE JUICE—Lance there’s too many people and we want to get out of here. Either the cops are gonna get here or someone’s gonna break their spine trying to shred down the railing. ...Lance? Hello?”  
Keith clears his throat. “Um. Keith speaking.”  
There’s silence on the other end, save for the music blaring in the background and distant yelling. “...Lance forgot his phone?”  
“Yeah.”  
Keith hears Pidge sigh. “We’ll find him. Hopefully he’s not dead or something. ... _no_ Hunk you’re not drunk...you shouldn't be this nauseous…oh. Oh no.” Pidge swears before shuffling around on the other line, and then there’s silence. Keith sits there for a moment, phone still to his ear.  
Lance is probably drunk out of his mind.  
Well, that’s not his problem.  
But...what if he’s in trouble?  
Keith clenches his fists and slowly sucks up his pride. He’ll just go to the party, give Lance his phone, make sure he’s not dead. Simple as that.  
Lance is an asshole. But Keith doesn’t want him _dead_.  
   
Keith assumes that the party Lance is at is the huge one at the Phi Delta Psi house, since that’s all that anyone and their grandmother has been talking about this week. Besides Keith, of course. Going within a hundred feet of this house goes against everything he believes in.  
He hears the commotion before he sees it. Finally rounding the corner, he sees the house all lit up, red solo cups littering the street. People are in the front lawn, dancing to the music inside that’s unbearably loud. Keith doesn’t even know if he’ll be able to get in through the front door through the pack of people smoking on the front porch, so he decides to try to find his way in through the back.  
Keith trudges angrily across the small lawn on the side of the house, cursing himself for even doing this. It's strangely secluded over here, probably because of the somewhat creepy line of trees leading to a forest opposite of the house. The branches above him make a sort of canopy, hiding the light from the moon and much of the light from the house. Yeah, definitely creepy. But if it's the fastest way…  
Keith suddenly hears a noise coming from those trees. Keith reacts on instinct, running toward the cover of a huge oak tree, pressing himself against it before leaning his head slightly to see what the hell just came out of the underbrush.  
It's a person. A kid sprints out of the forest, their hood up over their head, something gripped in their hands. Keith watches them run towards the side of the house. The music is muffled over here, the talking and yelling from the partygoers less deafening. Keith can hear the kid shake the object in his hand—a clacking noise that can only mean it's spray paint. They then lift the can and begin writing something against the faded white siding.  
What the hell? Really? They're gonna vandalize the house during a party, just because no one’s paying enough attention to stop them? What a douche.  
Keith watches them spray huge, red letters unevenly across the siding. Finally, they seem to survey their work, then turn to look around themselves. Keith freezes up when he gets a glimpse of their face. The kid’s wearing a mask. It looks like a cheap monster mask you’d get from a costume store. Sort of...purplish gray, with a creature snarling on it. A...reptilian wolf creature? Okay, that’s gross, and suspicious. Then the kid runs back into the woods where he came. Keith listens to the crunching of leaves under their feet fade until they're gone. Then he turns to what they wrote across the house.  
GALRA RISE.  
Something about it makes Keith’s skin crawl. _Galra_? What? ...What is a Galra and why is it rising?  
The forest seems to be staying quiet again. Keith creeps out of the trees and sprints towards the back deck. People are out here, blissfully unaware of the freaky weird thing that just happened. They simply look towards him with vague disinterest and lift their cigarettes to their lips.  
Keith shoves past a few of them to get into the house. Get in, get out. That's still the plan. He pushes past people grinding to the music that's shaking the floor to get to the kitchen. Maybe Lance will be eating Cheetos while staring into space like he does in their dorm. Instead, Keith finds the reason he’s here in the first place.  
“Pidge.” Keith says, walking over to him. Pidge seems to be patting the back of a person twice the size of him, as they’re retching into the kitchen sink. “I have Lance’s phone.”  
Pidge turns towards him, eyebrows raising.  
“So we established. Why are you here?”  
“So I can give it to him.” _Duh._  
The guy in the sink groans helplessly. Pidge closes his eyes for a second. “Well, I have to stay here with Hunk for a bit. He’s...well...he’s gonna need a minute.”  
Keith looks at the poor guy. Wait, it's the guy that stopped him and Lance from maybe punching each other in the face the other day. Hunk.  
Well, Keith is on his own then. He wishes Pidge good luck and turn away from them, surveying the sea of bodies in front of him. Keith decides his first attempt will be to check in the most crowded room, just off the kitchen.  
But as Keith tiptoes around people dancing and kissing and doing things he decides to look away from, there's no sight of his jackass roommate. Just a pack of people he doesn’t know.  
As Keith travels through the maze of strangers, he feels himself feeling more and more isolated. Even in this room filled with people and deafening music, he's still by himself. Of course he’s still alone.  
Keith rubs his hand across his face. He needs to find Lance and get the hell out of here.  
Keith decides to head in the other room, this one a fraction quieter. Just then there's an eruption of thunderous cheers from the corner of the room. There's a ring of people crowded around what must be a game of beer pong. Finally, he sees Lance through the gap between the heads of two onlookers. His eyes are closed and he’s beaming, hands up in the ear, before he screams right along with them. He’s the one playing, the player on the other end looking like they’re close to collapsing. But the audience around Lance is losing their shit right along with him, giving him high fives and cheers as Lance downs a shot.  
Keith stops for a second, taken aback. And then he realizes— he’s never seen Lance smile before. Well, he's seen Lance smirk and sneer at him, trying to test his patience. But never this.  
Keith tries to imagine Lance genuinely smiling at him. Impossible.  
Well, time to deliver this stupid phone. Keith is about to walk up to the table when a familiar voice says his name.  
Keith turns. Making his way through a couple people, holding one of those red cups in his hands, is Shiro. Shiro?  
“Well, I’m sure glad to see you, Keith.” Shiro says as he approaches. He seems to be slightly drunk— stumbling a little, smiling wider than usual. “I didn't know you decided to go to Altea U. I would've tried to see you earlier.” Honestly, Keith forgot Shiro went here. The last time he heard his name was when all of the articles about Shiro’s arm were coming out. Shiro sips the drink in his hand. “...I would've thought you'd try out for the tennis team, Keith.”  
Keith shrugs. “Not really into tennis anymore. But I’ll be sure to come by the courts sometime.”  
“Then things could be just like high school, yeah?” Shiro says. Keith was so much shorter than Shiro back then, when they’d be talking like this, down by the court. But then Shiro graduated and became a collegiate star, and Keith was left to try to follow in his footsteps. Shiro’s talking again. “Do you want something to dri—”  
Keith suddenly sees movement behind Shiro that’s different from the rest of the party going on around him. A purplish-gray face...staring. Keith’s breath hitches. It’s the kid with the mask. He’s here, in the house. And he’s looking right at Keith, moving something in his hands. What the hell is...he’s throwing something in Keith’s direction.  
It lands next to Shiro’s foot, and just as Keith looks down towards it, the smoke bomb explodes.  
“Shiro, look out!” Keith yells, pushing him to the side, as the people around him begin to turn toward the noise and see the putrid green smoke rising from the floor. Then, seemingly all at once, everyone starts screaming.  
“It’s poisonous!” Someone yells, coughing and covering their mouth, and everyone begins rushing towards the open windows, crowding the back door. There’s so much noise. Keith immediately loses Shiro in the crowd. Keith finds himself stuck, looking at the faces rushing by him, someone spilling beer on his shirt.  
And then someone runs into him, nearly knocking him off his feet.  
Lance blinks up at him when he regains his composure. Glassy eyed, one hand on Keith’s hip, using him to support himself.  
“Keith?” Lance draws. Well, at least he’s conscious. Lance then starts coughing, the green smoke drifting past their faces.  
“Come on, Lance. Hold onto me.” Keith shouts. Lance drapes his arms around Keith’s shoulders, and Keith trudges forward, Lance stumbling behind him.  
They reach the front door after what feels like an eternity, pushing past people to get out of the house, the smoke now thick enough to make Keith cough uncontrollably. Keith can barely see through the smoke, even when they stumble outside. It burns his throat and his eyes, and he hacks as he makes the few final steps before tripping down the stairs of the front porch.  
He finally collapses into the grass, Lance falling off of his shoulders. The world spins before it starts fading. The last thing he sees is people running from the house, coughing and stumbling, and then just as the light is fading, he sees Lance lying unconscious next to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> an important note: yes, I'm aware there's no Allura and Coran yet. Just you wait! Also, I haven't really gotten very far into the plot, so the description probably doesn't make too much sense yet, but I felt like this was too good of an opportunity to NOT end on a cliffhanger.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! Leave kudos/a comment if you'd like, it means a lot to me! Also, if you wanna come talk to me on tumblr, I'm over at jacklalonde.tumblr.com! Thanks again for reading, and the next part will be up within a week! :)


	2. part two

  
When Keith comes to, there's a moment of calm before he hears the chaos. In that same moment, he realizes that it’s the hard ground and not his bed beneath him. And then the panic hits him, his eyes opening and instinctively scrambling to sit up. There's bright and insistent flashing lights past the lawn in front of him—red flashing to blue, again and again, against the dark. Around him, what must be paramedics are rushing over to people strewn unconscious across the grass. No one’s seemed to notice him yet.  
A memory of the masked face filters in through Keith’s foggy mind, and he forgets to breathe. He’s not hurt, the gas didn’t hurt him. But the person behind the mask threw that smoke bomb in his direction. They wanted him to fall unconscious in this grass. Or maybe they wanted him trampled in the crowd. Or stuck in there until the gas choked him to death...  
His head pounds from whatever that gas has left behind in his mind. But Keith still searches through squinted eyes for anyone familiar among the people that have begun to crowd around the police cars and ambulances on the edge of the grass. Keith thinks he sees Shiro’s silhouette among the lights, his hands on his hips facing away from him, talking to what must be a police officer. He has to squint harder as his head aches insistently, but Keith convinces himself it’s him. It’s Shiro, and he can help. So he rushes to his feet, only a little unsteady, before he remembers that his roommate is still lying at his feet.  
Keith bends down to Lance’s limp body, shaking his shoulder.  
"Lance, hey," he says, shaking him again. “Get up.”  
Keith waits, the worry slowly starting to settle in his stomach. Maybe Lance breathed in more of the gas than him...maybe he…  
Lance grumbles, moving his shoulder away from Keith’s hand and rolling over. "Five more minutes," he mutters.  
" _Lance!_ " Keith cries. He’s relieved, he can admit that.  
Lance’s eyes blink open slowly before they focus in on Keith above him.  
"I'm...I’m on the ground.” Lance says. His brown hair is mussed in all directions, so different from how Lance usually crafts the position of every strand. And his eyes, always so focused on whatever he’s doing, stare almost blankly at Keith’s face. “...I'm so drunk, dude.” Lance tries to sit up, and as he does, mutters “fuck you, Keith."  
Okay, he’s back. But Keith doesn't have time for this. Keith hauls Lance to his feet ungracefully and makes him drape an arm around him. That seems to be the only way to get him to stand.  
"Don’t hold so tight." Lance complains, struggling to shake off the hand that Keith’s secured on his forearm.  
"Lance, just shut up." Keith says. If he lets go, Lance falls to the ground. And at any other moment, he would willingly drop Lance to the ground. Sure would be a lot less stress on his shoulders. But instead, Keith attempts to walk them towards Shiro’s figure.  
The police officer Shiro is talking to is writing vigorously on a small notebook, nodding along to what Shiro is saying, his ginger hair and thick mustache a glowing beacon in the bright lights. Keith trudges ever forward.  
He didn't notice before, but Keith now sees there's two kids shuffling up to Shiro’s figure too from the direction of the ambulance. It's the kids from the party. Lance’s friends. Pidge and...Hunk. Right.  
Hunk has a shock blanket around his broad shoulders, his eyes on the ground as he follows behind the smaller boy. Pidge keeps looking nervously this way and that, his arms glued at his sides as he walks. Finally, he stiffens even more as he spots Keith.  
Keith doesn’t hear him say his name, but he sees Pidge’s mouth move and then Hunk’s eyes lifting from the ground. Shiro must have heard them too, because Keith watches Shiro’s head snap to Pidge, his shoulders lift, and then turn around. Then, all at once, everyone’s rushing toward him.  
Shiro meets them halfway as Pidge and Hunk rush over. “Are you okay?” He hears Shiro ask Pidge next to him.  
“I’m okay, I’m okay.” Pidge reassures him. Keith doesn’t have time to wonder how they even know each other before Shiro’s crowding around him next.  
“Do you need a paramedic?” Shiro asks, helping him stand straight, moving so he can take Lance from his grip. Keith simply holds on tighter.  
“I’m fine.” Keith knows Shiro means well, but he’s capable of holding his roommate upright.  
“What about Lance?” Shiro then asks. Wait, how do _they_ know each other?  
Keith looks down at Lance. His eyes are closed, but he tips his head toward Shiro anyway.  
“M’okay...just a little...drunk and stuff.” Lance attempts to smile. Shiro gives him a somewhat disappointed look, then rubs the back of his neck, backing away. It gives just enough space for Hunk and Pidge to crowd over Lance next.  
“Holy shit, Lance. We were looking everywhere for you—are you okay?” Hunk asks, grabbing Lance’s face and turning it towards him. Lance, through squished cheeks, coughs, before opening his eyes slightly.  
“M’fine.”  
“Don’t scare us like that.” Pidge says. He looks genuinely hurt. “Did you get him out?” Pidge asks, turning his gaze to Keith for a moment.  
“Yeah. I ran into him and I...I got us out.”  
There’s a moment where it seems like everyone will just keep staring bewilderedly at Keith forever. Even Shiro won’t look away. Until another figure crowds into Keith’s line of sight.  
“Hello, sorry to bother you. You didn’t happen to come from that building, did you?” The mustache man is back. It nearly covers his mouth as he speaks, and Keith can’t help but stare at it as the man talks to him. “I’m Detective Coran, and if you’re feeling quite alright, we’d like to ask you a few questions about what happened while it’s fresh in your head.”  
“‘We’?” Keith asks. Before the detective can answer, another silhouette captures his attention. Another officer puts down her pen and paper on top of the squad car and walks over. She looks at Keith so intensely he can’t help but swallow. Her light hair is pinned up underneath her police hat, her dark skin practically glowing in the flashing lights from the other police cars. Next to Coran, they look like two iridescent beings.  
“Chief Detective Allura, Altean police department.” She reaches out for Keith’s hand. He lifts up the arm that isn’t supporting Lance, accepts her firm handshake. She then looks around the group of kids in front of her.  
“Were all of you inside the Phi Delta Psi house this evening?”  
Everyone but Lance slowly nods their head. Lance’s head is down, his body heavy in Keith’s arms, gently snoring. Detective Allura frowns towards him. “And do any of you have information on what caused the incident tonight?”  
It seems like the dam breaks all at the same time, each of them loudly pouring out their memories in Allura’s face.  
“It was this guy in a mask, and he—”  
“I saw him come in through the back—”  
Keith practically screams when he says “He marked the back of the house with spraypaint—”  
The detective lifts her hands, stopping them.  
“Why don’t we take you boys back to the station so I can properly document these accounts?”  
All of them pause. Keith feels himself tense, but he stays quiet.  
“Of course, detective. Anything to help.” Shiro says.  
“Thank you…” Allura says, before Shiro chimes in, reaching out a hand.  
“Shiro.” She gives Shiro the same firm handshake, though he seemed to have expected it. A hint of warmth appears in her eyes.  
But then she turns back to the rest of them. “Well. Two of you can go with Coran in his car, three of you with me.” She then wordlessly turns and paces back to the driver’s side of one of the flashing cars.  
Shiro then looks towards Keith, nodding his head in the direction of Allura’s car. Keith hoists Lance up, as his roommate mumbles nonsense in his sleep.  
“We’ll go with Detective Coran,” Hunk says, still practically shaking under his shock blanket. He takes it with him as he and Pidge climb into the car. Keith holds on tight to Lance as he brings him to Allura’s squad car, dumping him in between him and Shiro.  
“Your unconscious friend wasn’t drinking underage tonight, was he?” Detective Allura says in a delicately menacing way, her eyes flickering between Keith and Shiro in the rearview mirror. Lance’s head falls this way and that as they turn away from the curb. Keith looks toward Shiro, silently asking for help. Lance is an asshole, but he doesn’t want him to get _arrested_. Shiro tries to keep a neutral expression, but Keith sees the fear too.  
“Um. We don’t have all the facts.” Shiro finally says. Lance starts to snore again.  
  
Before Lance opens his eyes, he feels the persistent pressure of a headache on his temples. He winces, tries to push it away behind closed eyelids, but it stays. It’s probably from all the alcohol he knows is in his system, or maybe it’s from when Keith practically threw him onto the ground…  
Wait. Keith _threw him on the ground_ ? Why does he remember Keith holding him up and then being thrown into the grass outside the party? Did Keith really show up to the party just to kick his ass? Did they finally fight each other at a _frat party_? Lance wouldn’t put it past his drunk self.  
...What the hell is he sitting on?  
Lance’s eyes open and he looks around. He’s sitting in a metal chair, his feet propped up across from him on another chair. And he’s in the corner of a warmly lit room, a lamp a few feet from him causing him to wince in the bright light. As Lance looks behind him, he sees there’s other aluminum chairs all crowded around a wooden desk, each chair filled with a figure facing away from him. But Lance can recognize each one. Is that...Hunk and Pidge...and Shiro...and Keith? Is this some sort of weird fever dream? And there’s a beautiful woman in a police officer’s uniform behind the desk typing on a laptop. This is...probably a fever dream.  
There’s hushed conversation that Lance can only hear once the pounding in his head subsides.  
“What’s going on?” Lance asks. He moves his feet from the chair opposite of him and tries to stand, but is met with the entire world tipping on it’s axis and his head feeling as light as a feather before it hits the ground.  
“Woah, Lance!” He hears, seemingly underwater, as he lifts his head again. When he tries to open his eyes again, Pidge is above him, wide and worried eyes behind his big glasses. “It’s okay, don’t freak out. We’re at the police station.” Lance feels the pounding in his head pick up again, feels his breath go short.  
“Um.” Lance looks up to where the others have rushed over to peer over Pidge’s shoulder at him. The female officer reaches a hand out to him, and he takes it on instinct. Without a moment's hesitation, she hoists him up to his feet seemingly effortlessly. And he’s left staring at her face to face.  
Okay, so they’re in a police station. That explains the police officer in front of him. But... _shit_. They’ve turned him in for drinking, haven’t they? It was just a party! It was just for experience! He’d never even drank more than a sip from his mom’s wine glass before tonight! Lance clears his throat. He can at least come up with something witty to say, right?  
“Hi…I’m not drunk right now.”  
...Not his greatest work. But he _is_ rather incapacitated at the moment. The officer rolls her eyes.  
“Nice to finally really meet you, Lance. And...sure you aren’t.” As she lets go of his hand he struggles to stay on his feet, but forces himself to stay planted.  
“Someone attacked the party we were at, Lance. With a smoke bomb. Do you remember?” It’s Shiro asking him from over his shoulder. Lance turns and stares at him, unable to register anything but the fact that Shiro is _here_ and _talking to him_ . In what appears to be an office inside a police station. Is he _sure_ this isn’t a dream?  
But when Shiro’s words finally register, Lance tries to rack his brain for anything. He remembers leaving his dorm. He remembers his first couple drinks. He even remembers playing beer pong for a while but...he doesn’t remember a _bomb_ going off. He just remembers hitting the ground. And…  
“All I remember is Keith throwing me onto the grass outside.” He stares daggers towards his roommate, who’s mullet is seriously disheveled and has something other than cold passiveness in his expression as Lance acknowledges him. But then it changes once they lock eyes, and Keith resumes his expression of looking perpetually annoyed.  
“I was _saving your life_!” Keith bites back. “And then I practically cradled you in my arms on the way here as you repeatedly passed out!”  
Lance shrugs. “Don’t remember.”  
Keith stares at him with utter disdain. Lance stares back until the officer gets his attention again.  
“Lance, are you sure you don’t remember anything about the attack? I’ve brought each of you here so you could freely tell me anything that happened.”  
Another officer, who Lance hadn’t noticed until now, steps forward. He brushes his hand over his mustache as he talks.  
“Your friends have already given a decent account of what happened, but we’re still missing a few pieces.” Lance can feel everyone staring at him in expectation. Lance feels their eyes boring into him, and he opens and closes his mouth like a fish. He doesn’t have anything to say. His heartbeat pounds in his ears, suddenly overwhelmed. He...doesn’t _know._ He doesn’t even know who these officers are or how he even got to be in this place. The mustache officer seems to notice how uncomfortable he seems. “Oh, um. I’m Detective Coran, by the way. I’m the right hand man to Altea’s Chief Detective Allura, here.” She nods in Lance’s direction, her arms crossed and brow set. Lance is still too terrified to fully acknowledge how beautiful she is. Oh, he wishes he was sober.  
Lance swallows. “Well...I wish I had something to tell you. But...I guess I was occupied when the bomb went off. ...What happened? Who did this?”  
“That’s what we’re trying to find out.” Detective Allura walks quickly back to her desk and sits down, the others returning to their seats only after Shiro has moved Lance’s chair over to a spot next to him and Keith. Lance is too shell-shocked and somewhat drunk to try to hit Keith with a sick burn about how messed up his hair right now. It leaves him feeling even more off.  
Allura opens up her laptop and sighs. “Well, Lance, this is what we have so far. Of course we’ll bring in more eye-witnesses later on and collect physical evidence, but from the accounts you’ve all given I can already see that the case we’re working with is a gang-related act of terror.”  
Lance leans back in his seat, light-headed. Altea University doesn’t have any _gangs_ ...right? Everything’s so confusing, it’s all mashing itself together in his head. Ugh, why can’t he remember what happened? Why can’t he _think_?  
Allura continues. “From Keith’s account, he watched as a possible perpetrator spraypainted the side of the Phi Delta Psi house with the words ‘GALRA RISE’ around ten minutes before the attack. Then, later in the night—”  
“What were _you_ doing at the party?” Lance interrupts, whipping his head toward Keith. Keith did not make it look like he was planning on partying later that night when he flipped Lance off as he walked out the door.  
“You forgot your stupid phone at our dorm and Pidge called. He was worried about you. So I went to make sure you…” Keith seems to cut himself off. Lance feels his heartbeat pick up. “So I could give you your stupid phone.” Keith leans back in his chair, arms crossed and crossing his foot over his knee. Lance doesn’t know what to think. Keith walked all the way over there to give him his phone…which seems way out of his character...and then witnessed a guy spray painting a weird message onto the wall of the Phi Delta Psi house? Jeez. Talk about shitty timing.  
“Anyway,” the detective says adamantly. “We then have Pidge’s account of seeing a hooded figure rushing in through the back door and past the kitchen. But Pidge, you said this person wasn’t masked?”  
“I only saw their back. I don’t know if it was the masked guy.”  
She nods, types into her laptop. “Right. And then we have Keith’s second account, which says that the masked person in question threw the smoke bomb in his general direction after seemingly making eye contact. And then Shiro...as you were rushed outside alongside the crowd, you turned back to look for Keith and saw the masked person?”  
“Yes. They were looking at me. Or...it seemed like they were.”  
Shiro seems lost in thought for a moment, and Coran takes the opportunity to chime in.  
“The components gas inside the bomb haven’t been analysed yet, but after being heavily inhaled it seemed to cause people to black out for a few minutes. That’s what happened to you, Keith. Correct?”  
“Yes.” Lance looks back towards Keith. He still has his arms crossed, but now he has his head down, staring intensely at the floor. Keith really did carry him out of there, didn’t he? As they were trying to get out of the house. That’s why he remembers Keith throwing him on the ground. ...Lance sort of wishes he could remember that.  
“It seems as though it was not an attack that meant to truly hurt anyone,” Coran continues. “But from the message sprayed on the side of the house, it was clearly to get our attention. And it has.”  
They all sit in silence for a moment. Lance then feels something in him, low in his stomach. It’s not fear—he’s been feeling absolutely terrified ever since he opened his eyes. No...he’s going to be sick.  
Lance raises a hand. “Um, Detective Coran...is there a trashcan I can throw up in?”  
  
Lance empties all the alcohol from his system in the bathroom while Hunk simply watches him from the doorway like a concerned mother.  
“I just wanted a fun night out for us, you know?” Hunk says quietly. Of course Hunk would be the one to apologize for this, as if it wasn’t Lance’s whole fucking idea in the first place. “I didn’t know that we’d get caught up in all of this.”  
Lance looks up at him, his stomach still churning but needing to set this straight. “This is completely my fault, Hunk. It was my idea. My _stupid_ idea. So please, Hunk, take the guilt off yourself and throw it onto me. I can take it.” He wipes a hand across his mouth. “Still, Hunk. At least you guys saw what went down. That’ll get the case for catching those lunatics started.”  
Hunk rubs a hand across his face. “I guess. But...I can still taste that smoke, Lance. What if they do something worse next? Something that actually hurts people?”  
Lance feels the fear creep up his spine, settling on the back of his neck. “You think they’ll attack us again?”  
Suddenly footsteps approach the bathroom. Shiro stands next to Hunk, nodding to him before looking pitifully towards Lance on the floor.  
“Lance, I hope you’re doing better. Because we found something.”  
  
“This was posted fifteen minutes ago,” Coran says, his voice slightly wavering.  
Lance wants to throw up again. On the screen of Allura’s laptop is a video. A link to it was anonymously posted on the main Altea University website fifteen minutes ago. Coran’s finger hesitates to click play.  
From what they all described, this must be the masked figure. Their mask is grotesque, the holes for the eyes covered in a somewhat translucent mustard fabric. It almost makes it look like the eyes are glowing.  
The video is shaky and terrible quality, just the figure standing in front of a wall with what looks like the messy scrawl of the word GALRA across it. It’s real. All of what they said was real.  
“There is nothing more powerful than fear. Fear conquers all,” the masked figure says. Lance looks towards Shiro, who’s staring at the screen, terrified. The haunting, computer-manipulated voice continues. “I am Zarkon, leader of the Galra. And we, the Galra, are fear. This message is one of celebration—we have already brought on chaos to the largest crowd in the Altean area tonight—a house filled with brain-dead, booze-filled worthless partygoers. But for those who were part of the attack; don’t worry. It doesn’t have to be this way. You can join the Galra Empire. You can become more than a zombie, more than a face in the crowd...and become the face of _power_. These agents of Galra are among you—if you wish to join, we will find you and we will welcome you.” He laughs, a demented, electronic chortle. “Join our revolution! We will conquer until no one stands in our way.” He salutes the camera. “Vrepit sa!”  
The video goes dark.  
“Holy shit,” Lance can’t help but say. This is...serious. This is real.  
Pidge goes to move his glasses up, and his hands are shaking.  
“So...they’re gonna attack again?” Hunk says, his voice wavering. “They’re gonna...keep striking where there’s the most people and what...take over Altea U? And then the world?”  
“We won’t let that happen.” Already, Allura is leaning over to the phone on her desk, pressing a button and lifting the phone to her ear. “We’re nearly done with the kids, but you need to check the Altea University website. This gang is actually a terrorist organization. Depending how serious, me might have to contact FBI Intelligence.” Allura hangs up and leans back into her chair. “It might not be as serious as we think. We can track the IP of where the video was posted. But I fear that these Galra might be smarter than we believe. I need to find officers that can track down these members of the Galra.”  
“Won't they stay away from any officers?” Pidge asks.  
“Good point.” Suddenly, her hands slam on the table. "That’s it! You'll be my eyes on the inside. You'll form a _team_.”  
“ _What?_ ” Keith asks. He’s never sounded so offended. Lance can’t help but pull back too. Them? As a team? A team of _what?_  
“You'll become the... _Altean safety squad!_ ”  
There’s silence. Finally Pidge speaks up.  
“Um...no.” All eyes fall on him. Pidge seems to be slowly curling in on himself. “We can't just _go after them_. That's putting us all in danger. And...I don't want that.”.  
Lance can’t make himself say anything. These Galra guys seem _hella_ dangerous. And the five of them can’t just _take the Galra down_ on their own.  
“You're right,” Allura says, her demeanor falling slightly. “It was foolish of me to think you five could do that. Forgive me, I have to make a few phone calls. Feel free to watch something on TV for a few minutes. Coran, come with me.” They watch her leave, then look at each other. Hunk merely shrugs.

The boys arrange their chairs around the small TV in Allura’s office silently, then merely watch with blank stares as the colors move on the screen as a realtor tries to convince a couple that they don’t need to live _directly_ on the beach. Lance is bored out of his mind.  
“There's nothing on,” Lance whines, woefully sliding further down into his chair and placing the back of his hand on his forehead.  
“I've got a few movies on my phone,” Pidge suggests. Lance hops from his chair immediately, and together they scroll through what looks like a Netflix-sized collection of movies on Pidge’s phone.  
“Woah, Pidge. This is more than a few,” Lance says, laughing lightly. “How do you have all these?”  
Pidge shrugs. “I just download them.”  
Lance raises an eyebrow. “Like...illegally?” Pidge merely shrugs again.  
“Ugh. I wanna get out of here,” Keith says, tipping his chair back so it’s balancing on its back legs. “It’s so late.”  
“Just be patient,” Shiro says.  
“Yeah, Keith. Be _patient_.” Lance taunts. Keith flips him off, but Lance has already turned back to scrolling through Pidge’s phone.  
“Don't you want to know if they'll be able to track the IP address?” Hunk adds.  
Keith sighs. “Kind of just want to punch the officers that are keeping Allura and Coran from taking us home.”  
Suddenly, the doors whip open.  
“Well, boys. We’ve decided.” Allura says, as her and Coran walk back into the room. They both cross their arms, smiles across their face, and Lance raises an eyebrow.  
“Decided what?”  
“You will form the Altean safety squad.” She’s beaming. Lance’s nose wrinkles slightly in disgust. Didn’t they just discuss this?  
Hunk had his shock blanket draped over his head like a nun, and it falls back onto his shoulders as he whips around towards them. He mirrors Lance’s expression. “Um. Why?”  
“Because it makes perfect sense.” Allura says. “Students like you are exactly what the Galra is looking for as recruits. But you’ll be our eyes on the inside! They won’t fall into a trap made by officers, but _you aren’t officers!_ We’ll equip you and train you and send you out Galra hunting. And you can meet back here and tell us what you find! Besides, Pidge, we now know that you’ve illegally downloaded countless movies. And you, Keith, just threatened to hypothetically punch a police officer.”  
“Wasn't very nice of you,” Coran adds.  
“You were _listening_ to us?” Keith cries. Pidge looks like he might pass out.  
“Of course we were.” Allura replies. “We weren't going to leave you in our office all alone. This is a police station. There’s cameras everywhere. Oh, and Lance, you can't back out of this either. Remember, when we first met you were passed out drunk and...you're eighteen.” Lance feels his cheeks burning as Allura smiles at him. How can she be so beautiful but so _scary_? “But...if you help us out with this, we might be so kind to help each of you out of any possible charges.”  
“Henceforth, you'll be known as the Altean Safety Patrol!” Coran exclaims.  
Um, no. Lance isn’t having that.  
"If we’re gonna be a crime-fighting team, we can’t go by the _Altean Safety Patrol_ ,” Lance says. “We sound like fifth graders. We need to sound _cool_.”  
He's accepted his fate. He's on a team with his jerkface roommate, but he's also on a team with his hero and two best friends. Also, he _really_ doesn’t want to get charged with underage drinking. “We need to sound like we could actually be a team of crime fighters." They all lean back, considering. Hunk goes to flip through the news on TV in the silence.  
"—A large short circuit in the mid-city mall today. There was a great amount of high volt—"  
"Ron, over to you with tomorrow’s weather."  
"...Volt-ron." Pidge says. In the background, the news reporters drone on.  
"Voltron." Lance repeats, sounding it out. Everyone seems to mull it over. Pidge just combined the most random sounds that he heard on TV and created...the best fuckin’ team name ever.  
"That’s _sick_!” Lance yells. “Makes us sound like we're a..crime-fighting transformer."  
"Made of fire!" Shouts Hunk.  
"It can't be _made_ of fire," mutters Keith.  
"Made of lions." Shiro suggests. They all nod slowly in agreement.  
“You five will form Voltron, protector of Altea university, destroyer of the Galra empire.” Allura says, indulging them.  
“We're gonna fuck those Galra up. Fuck you Zarkon!” Lance yells. Pidge and Hunk laugh as they accept Lance’s high-fives.  
“Voltron.” Shiro says, slowly starting to smile. “Has a nice ring to it.”  
  
It's beyond late, Lance realizes, as the clock in Allura’s office ticks all the way to four in the morning. Lance is beginning to feel more and more hungover and exhausted. The rest of team Voltron (or whatever) is feeling the drowsiness too—Hunk had even resolved to lying on the hardwood floor and covering himself with his shock blanket. But Allura has only just finally told them that the rest of the Altea officers are on the hunt for the IP address. So after groaning that they still won’t be able to go home for a while, they all complain about how hungry they are instead. Allura merely rolls her eyes at them and announces there's a fast food place across the street from the station. After food, she’ll give them the final update about the possible whereabouts of the Galra and take them home. But for now, _food_.  
  
So then on the curb of a McDonald's, as Allura and Coran continue to do their panicked work and consult with the other officers back at their office, Lance shoves an entire Big Mac in his mouth in record time and then moans in satisfaction.  
“Still hungry,” he whines, his mouth still full. Shiro wordlessly passes him his fries, and Lance nearly tears up before shoving them inside too. _This_ is why Shiro is his ultimate hero. He overcomes a life-changing injury and then he passes Lance his fries. Incredible.  
Lance looks the other way towards Keith, french fries hanging out of his mouth, only to see that Keith has his McFlurry spoon just sitting in his mouth, the empty cup next to him, as he’s staring up at the stars. Lance chews his fries, watching Keith’s eyes search the sky like it’s something more than just dots up there. He's so bizarre.  
“Well boys,” Hunk says, getting their attention. “We may be the most amazing team of crime-fighters ever to exist, but currently I only really know two of you. So...maybe we should say a few things about ourselves to break the ice!” Hunk anxiously smiles at everyone, waiting.  
“Great idea, Hunk.” Shiro says, patting Hunk’s shoulder reassuringly. “Why don't you start?”  
That seems to have caught him slightly off-guard. “Well. Um. I'm Hunk.”  
“Hello, Hunk.” Pidge says in a deadpan voice. He smiles when he realizes he’s made everyone laugh.  
“What is this, Voltron Anonymous?” Lance asks. He leans over and ruffles Pidge’s hair.  
“If I may continue…” Hunk says, pretending to be annoyed with Pidge, but he’s still laughing. “I'm a freshman. My favorite color is yellow.”  
“Tell us a secret!” Lance shouts, getting comfortable on the concrete below him. This ought to be good.  
Hunk looks up towards the sky, seemingly racking his brain. “And...I'm a Hufflepuff.”  
“A _real_ secret.” Keith says.  
Hunk shrugs. “Um…I don't know. I’m kind of an open book. But uh...I've wanted to be a mechanical engineer ever since I could sit up.” Lance could see that. Hunk is sort of a genius. “Your turn, Pidge.”  
Pidge turns towards the rest of the group and sighs.  
“My names Pidge, I'm also a freshman, my favorite color is green...but not like too bright of a green, but not so much of a mint, sort of a mix between a hunter green and a green you'd get when you mix a tiny bit of white in—”  
“Come oooon, tell us the goods!” Lance interrupts.  
Pidge stops his current ramble in its tracks. “Oh. Well...I'm a Ravenclaw.”  
“And your secret?” Shiro prompts.  
Pidge freezes up, then. Lance doesn’t think he’s ever seen a person’s face turn red so fast. “I…love computers! Love em.” Pidge says with a thumbs up.  
“Lame!” Lance interjects. Pidge glares right at him.  
“You go then,” Pidge bites back. Lance lifts his chin.  
“Fine.” He faces the group, fixes his hair. Time to blow them all away. “Lance is my name, being fuckin’ cool is my game. I'm a freshman, favorite color is blue, house is Slytherin, _of course_. And—”  
“You're not a Slytherin,” Pidge interrupts.  
Lance’s mouth falls open. “Yes I am.”  
“Are not. You're totally a Gryffindor.”  
“But I'm so cunning and...sneaky! Aren't I sneaky, Hunk?”  
Hunk merely shrugs. _Is no one going to defend him?_  
“Can't you just be a Gryffindor and a Slytherin?” Keith asks.  
Both Lance and Pidge turn towards him, appalled. “Of course not, _Keith._ ” Lance says. “Anyway. My secret is that I...had never been drunk before tonight.”  
“ _No way_ ,” Keith remarks sarcastically. Lance throws his empty fry box at him and they’re about to go for each other’s throats before Shiro suggests Keith goes next and Hunk grabs Lance by his collar to hold him back.  
Keith sighs, sitting back down on the curb. He crosses his arms again. “I'm Keith. I'm a freshman. I'm a Slytherin, and my favorite color is red. My secret is that I got expelled from my high school.”  
Nobody even comments on it. They just let Keith’s secret slowly sink in. Keith is just staring into the distance again. ...Lance didn’t know that. That means that after Keith won their tennis championship, within a year he wasn’t even allowed at that school anymore. Lance scans everyone else’s faces to make sure he’s not the only one who doesn’t know how to react to this. To be honest, Shiro looks the most surprised.  
Keith eventually starts to turn red. “Um, Shiro?”  
Shiro blinks a few times before his smile comes back.  
“Oh, right! I'm Shiro. I'm a junior. My favorite color is...black.” Lance raises a finger and opens his mouth, but Shiro sees it coming. “Or gold, if you don’t count black as a color.” Lance lowers his finger. “And I've been told I'm a Gryffindor. My secret that isn't really a secret is that I have one arm.” He lifts his prosthetic and waves each mechanical finger. Even with such a tragic story behind it, that arm is still fucking cool.  
Lance hesitates to say that, though. It's a little tense, and Hunk takes a loud, crunchy bite of his chicken sandwich in the silence.  
“I guess I have a better secret,” Pidge says. Lance turns towards him, waiting. What’s it gonna be? Has he hacked the CIA? _Killed a man_? But Pidge looks over at Shiro instead. “Me and Shiro know each other.”  
Shiro’s eyes widen, and Pidge’s voice trembles a little when he continues.  
“I mean, I know him from more than just...seeing him around campus or in class or something.” He takes a deep breath. “Shiro was in the bus accident that my dad and my brother Matt were in. We met in the hospital.” Everything seems to freeze. A car drives past them out of the drive thru.  
Shiro’s voice is achingly gentle when he speaks. “You brought me orange juice whenever the nurses were too busy.” He breaks into a smile. “We kept in touch for a while, too. I was so excited when I heard you were coming to Altea U.” Shiro breathes a laugh, glancing at the ground. “...Your dad and brother are lucky to have you, Pidge. You’re something special.” Shiro says. “And even though the circumstances weren’t ideal...I’m lucky to have met you and your family.”  
Pidge smiles, and Lance watches as small tears spring to his eyes.  
“Do you remember the accident?” Hunk asks softly. It’s what they’re all thinking, but Lance doesn’t know if he would’ve been able to open his mouth if he tried.  
“I still remember.” Shiro says softly. “It’s still so clear. Sometimes I wonder if it ever won’t be.” Shiro lifts his McDonald's cup to his lips, fiddles with the straw between his fingers. “I was on my way home from my summer job in the city. The bus was filled with half the amount of people that ride in the morning. Just maybe ten other people around me, I had a whole seat to myself. I was so relaxed, I remember just leaning my head against the window...and then we heard the yelling outside, and then the gunshot—and our bus driver’s blood hit the windshield. But...we kept going...and we clipped the edge of a building...and the bus fell over. And I just remember glass shattering and falling. And then my arm...I just couldn’t feel it anymore.” Shiro looks up. “And the next thing I remember is you, Pidge, in the hospital. You went to leave some orange juice on my table even though apparently I'd been out for days. And you left before I could say anything. And I went to grab it when you were gone and...my arm wasn't there.” He lightly laughs, but Lance feels his eyes well up with tears. Fuck, don’t cry now you little baby. It’s okay. He’s okay. “But the next day you were back, and I got to say hello. And we talked—”  
“About my dad. Apparently he was the friendliest regular that bus had ever seen.” Pidge’s eyes are definitely full of tears. He’s not hiding them.  
“And your brother was always quick to smile at anyone who passed. I remember seeing him talking to an old woman a few seats down that day. I’d never seen a person smile so wide.”  
Hunk sniffles next to him. Lance tells himself to get it together.  
Shiro takes another sip of his drink before his metal fingers set it back carefully on the ground. “And the people behind the gunshot, who killed our bus driver...they were in a gang like the one we’re dealing with now. The only difference is that I was caught in the wrong place at the wrong time. I wasn't being targeted. But these Galra, they're attacking people intentionally. And I won't let any innocent person get hurt by the likes of them.” He looks up, eyes each of them, before his gaze settles on Pidge. “So, Pidge, I know now why you didn’t want us to be a team in the beginning. Your family was put in danger once before, and you don’t want something to happen again. But we need to do this. We need to help.”  
Pidge stares at him for a moment, and then simply scoots over and leans his head on Shiro’s shoulder. Shiro extends his flesh arm around Pidge’s back and pulls him closer. Lance feels a tear roll down his face and hit his knee. Shit shit shit, get back in those eyes fuckin’ salt water, now is _not the time._  
Shiro must notice Lance wiping a hand across his face. “Sorry I made things all heavy, guys.This is just really important to me. And we need to be as open as possible, I suppose. Voltron won't be much of a team if we don't trust each other.” As soon as he says it, Lance turns his head slightly towards Keith, who’s eyes are just as glassy as everyone else’s. At least he’s not heartless. But, just for good measure, Lance sticks his tongue out at him.  
  
When Coran and Allura approach them, still sitting at the edge of the curb, Allura yawns behind her fingers and Coran seems dead tired as he addresses them.  
“Dead end on the IP. We've done all we can for tonight. Let's get you boys home.”  
Lance says nothing as they pile into the two squad cars. He’s upset that they weren’t able to get a lead on the Galra, but he’s also upset that he just sat on the curb of a McDonald’s until five in the morning just for Coran to tell them it’s a no-go.  
Lance takes the window seat; Pidge in the middle and Hunk on the end, and leans his aching head on the glass. There’s a benefit to all of this—it’s five in the morning. The light has just began to hint its arrival against the horizon, the birds have just begun to chirp. It's Lance’s favorite time of the day—mostly because it's so rare that he gets to experience it. Well, today was a rare type of day. It was a terrifying and life-changing kind of day. But it’s morning again, and the world is making itself new again, and he gets to watch the pink and blue begin to filter into the sky as they drive.  
  
Shiro lives in an apartment off campus and Hunk and Pidge live in a dorm a ways away, so Lance say his goodbyes to them all at the same time as Coran and Allura. The officers promise to keep in touch with each of them as soon as possible, and then turn sharply away from the curb and head back to where they came. Shiro starts to walk down the street towards the neighborhood of off-campus homes, giving a final solute and a smile to all of them. Pidge and Hunk sleepily wave their goodbyes and start off on the path towards the west dorms. And then Keith and Lance are left standing alone on the sidewalk under the blushing pink sky.  
Keith turns towards him. He better not try to talk about what happened. There's no point in trying to decipher all that went down within the past twelve hours. Lance's head is pounding again, and it hurts too bad to think about any of it.  
“I'm not that tired. Do you wanna verse me?” Keith asks. Lance lifts an eyebrow.  
“Verse you in what?” _A fucking staring contest?_ Oh. Does he mean... “ _Tennis?_ ”  
Keith shrugs. “Yeah. It's been awhile since I’ve played. It might be fun...even if I have to play with you.”  
Lance is so tired. But Keith is the one who’s smirking right now, and that is unacceptable. “Ugh, fine. But I'm half drunk and half hungover. I'm off my game.”  
Keith walks past him, sticking his hands in the pockets of his hideous jacket and calling over his shoulder “so nothing’s changed.”  
Lance’s mouth falls open. But Keith simply turns around, and as he’s walking backwards he flashes Lance a smile. Lance’s mouth closes again, blood rushing to his cheeks. He feels something more that just hatred in that moment as the morning sun illuminates Keith’s smile. But then Keith turns around again, and the moment is gone. Keith glances over his shoulder to make sure Lance is following, but Lance jogs a few steps to catch up to Keith’s pace. Keith, however, sees that Lance is gaining on him, and starts to jog too.  
“Really?” Lance asks. He runs slightly faster, overtaking Keith’s stride. Keith seems to let out a laugh in between breaths as he runs even faster. “Fine, we’re doing this then.”  
They sprint full speed all the way across the empty green of Altea U as the sun rises. They round corners and jump over decorative rocks with record speed, until the tennis courts are in sight.  
“You slowing down, Keith?” Lance asks.  
“You wish.” Keith says between pants.  
Lance pushes his last bit of energy to launch himself towards the tennis courts with every stride.  
“We’re getting pretty close to that fence,” Lance yells. The chain-link fence that surrounds the tennis courts is approaching their path a little too quickly.  
“So we are.” Keith yells back.  
“You scared?”  
Keith meets his gaze. “Hell n—”  
They both crash into the fence at the same time, springing back and landing on the ground with identical thumps. Lance groans, wiping dirt from his cheek as he sits up. Hitting your entire body on a chain-link fence is not the greatest way to start your morning. From the way that Keith looks over at him and says “fuck, I really hit my nose” Lance thinks he agrees.  
  
They keep a few rackets stored in a box next to the courts along with a few beat up tennis balls. And so, Lance plays a game of firsts: it’s the first time he’s played against a roommate-nemesis, the first game he’s played with the beginning of a hangover, and his first game he’s played in jeans.  
Keith takes off his jacket, runs fingers through his disheveled hair with his gloved fingers, and then demands he serves first. Lance is only barely able to hit it, he’s still so distracted by those damn gloves. Keith returns it again and again, and when Lance finally misses, Keith simply shrugs and says “predictable”. Lance spins his racket in his hand, getting back in position. Oh, it is _on_.  
Lance misses more than usual, and curses his delayed reflexes and the remaining alcohol in his system. But Keith misses too, and very loudly blames his exhaustion.  
“Thought you said you weren't tired!” Lance shouts, trying to hit a ball that fell just barely inside the line, chasing after it. Keith predicts Lance’s return angle and hits it back with ease.  
Finally, after their game goes into deuce for the sixth time, Lance sees Keith slowing down, missing a ball that was practically inviting him to smash it into Lance’s court. Finally, it’s Lance’s serve, and he is in it to _win it_.  
And he does. _He wins it._  
“Ohhhh my god, _yes._ WOO!” Lance screams, dropping his racket to the ground and then running in a small circle, fist-pumping. “I just beat the only person who _dared_ to call me their rival. Ha! _As if._ Now we know who’s truly superior. It’s me, your new high school state champion!” Lance dabs twice before collapsing to the ground, exhausted. Keith walks across the court and looks down at him.  
“Are you happy now?” Keith asks. His mullet is practically matted to his face with sweat, mouth open as he struggles to even his breathing. Lance is aware he probably doesn’t look too hot right now either.  
Lance closes his eyes. “You probably tried to let me win. But I demand a rematch when I'm not at a disadvantage.”  
“Oh, come on, you just won. Besides…” Keith looks up from him, looking around them. “I'm done with tennis. This is probably the last time I'll play.”  
“Why?” Lance asks, sitting up. “It pains me to say this, but you're _good_.” He shakily stands up just as Keith shrugs.  
“I wanna do something else. I like fencing, now. And dancing.”  
“I can't believe you dance,” Lance says. As they walk back towards the supply box, Lance does a few salsa steps, making Keith shake his head in mock-disappointment.  
“Why is it a surprise that I dance?”  
Lance scrunches his face up. “I don't know. Just can't imagine it.” He can only picture Keith dancing with a top hat and cane or like Magic Mike, there’s no in between. He doesn’t know what the hell else ‘dancing’ could involve.  
“Well, don't tire yourself out trying to,” Keith says.  
Lance feels the corners of his mouth unwillingly tip up. “Don’t worry about that.”  
  
They walk the entire way back to the dorm in silence. Lance is exhausted in every sense, too fucking tired to stop being civil with the boy walking next to him. He’ll leave all of that to a well-rested Lance.  
  
As Keith is unlocking their dorm room door, daylight spilling in through the window at the end of the hall, Lance tells himself just to say it. He thinks he might be slipping out of consciousness, so he tells himself to finally just say it. If he doesn’t say it now, he might not say it at all.  
“Thanks for getting me out of there.” Lance says. Keith looks over at him, key inside of the door. “It feels like forever ago. But I remember you bringing me out of the house. ...So...thank you for that.”  
Keith mirrors his small smile and unlocks the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!!! I'm REALLY enjoying writing this fic (having Lance as a narrator is just...the MOST fun). I'd really love to know if you guys like it too! You can leave a kudos/comment if you'd like, or you can let me know what you think over at jacklalonde.tumblr.com. Thank you again! :)
> 
> P.S. part three (and four?) should be out within a week!


	3. Part Three

  
It's nearly impossible for Lance to focus on school for the next week.  
How could anyone blame him for that? Now that there’s the ever-constant possibility that a masked member of the Galra might creep up on him, it’s harder than ever to focus on math homework. And that was already hard enough.  
But even through the constant paranoia, nothing happens. Instead, things have been settling down, somehow. And _that_ puts Lance on edge. How is his entire world supposed to change in one night, with the promise of fighting the Galra only moments away, only to leave him eating cheetos in bed the next day?  
At least Allura and Coran have been keeping up with them, giving them all the news they can. Still, it’s not much. They’re still contemplating the logistics of what Voltron is, and whether or not they should arm a group of teenagers with a gun or a taser—which Lance heavily approves. Shiro does not.  
But until all of that is figured out, Allura and Coran haven't even allowed them to go out looking for the Galra yet. Voltron was told that they're simply supposed to report back any suspicious activity, whatever that could mean, while the police department keeps a lookout for any signs of another attack. It’s taking a lot longer than Lance thought it would. So long that the whispers throughout campus of what happened the weekend before die down, until it seems that no one else but him remembers that night even happened.  
But there remains one person in his life that will not shut up about any of it, including the ‘twisted fucks’ he so desperately wants to take down. By some sort of miracle, Lance is still living with Keith. And by an even larger miracle, they're starting to _get along_. Sort of. Lance still despises Keith’s habit of waking at dawn and how loudly he snores and many, many other character faults. But even when Lance is clenching his jaw and holding back his sixtieth snarky remark of the day, he’s trying to stop himself from smiling. After all, when Lance isn’t out with Pidge and Hunk, in class, or at tennis, he's in his dorm with Keith. He had to learn to be civil at some point.  
Keith even sort of celebrated with him after Lance made the tennis team. Lance practically danced into their dorm that afternoon, not even halfway-through-changing Keith on the other side of the door able to distract him.  
“I maaade it, I maaade it, I really fucking maaade it” Lance chanted, again and again, until he grabbed Keith’s bare shoulders and shook him until Keith broke a smile.  
“Ow, jeez,” Keith said, though he was laughing half a second later when Lance jumped on his bed and started chanting louder. Shiro had told him _in person_ , before everyone else. And then he said that Lance has a lot of potential to make it to state this year. Lance had felt his soul leave his mortal body.  
   
But days have passed since then, and Lance is starting to feel overwhelmed with it all. Especially when Lance’s psychology class has just announced their first test and he has a three hour practice that evening and all he wants to do is curl up under his covers and _sleep_. Through the steady thrum of anxiety, Lance starts to feel it, slowly crushing him.  
He misses home. He misses his mother's cooking, even if he can eat his heart out at every meal in the dining hall. He misses his mother’s hugs, his annoying siblings, his friends back home.  
He pushes it all away as it comes in waves. There’s so much else for him to focus on other than how he feels in that moment.  
After saying goodnight to Voltron after another uneventful meeting at the Altean Police Department, Keith leads the way as they head up the stairwell to their dorm. Lance has walked these steps so many times, but today he feels like they’re extraordinarily tall and exhausting.  
“Can we go get smoothies or something?” Lance asks, hand braced on the railing. Keith stops mid-step and looks back at him. Lance hasn’t really asked Keith to do anything with him before. But he just doesn’t want to deal with this... _feeling_ right now. He doesn’t want to just sit in his dorm and feel bad for himself tonight. Lance has to defend himself. “Oh, um. Hunk and I go to this one place by the commons all the time. Their strawberry mango smoothies are the best.”  
Keith contorts his face a little. Lance thinks he might be considering it. “Not right now, I’ve got to train before I finish my essay.”  
Lance sighs. “Come on, Keith. I thought you trained this morning.”  
Keith leans against the railing. “Not for long. Shiro came by.” Lance pulls back a little, almost tripping down the stair behind him. He knows that Keith and Shiro know each other somehow but...spending time together? Alone?  
Lance feels his cheeks burning. _Why are his cheeks burning?_  
“Well...come on. Did Shiro buy you a smoothie? Because I will if you go with me.”  
Keith turns around and keeps walking up the stairs. Lance groans in defeat. “Fine.”  
   
And then he feels worse. He misses his family, he hates how the mattress beneath him is stiffer than his bed at home. He misses his siblings, misses tackling his younger brother, misses the cookouts and the bonfires with his massive family. Even when he comes back home over break, things won’t be the same. They’ve all accepted that he’s gone. Cookouts will happen without him. His mother will call him less and less until...  
He misses home, but home doesn’t miss him.  
Lance rolls over in his bed, trying to block out the dim light of Keith’s laptop on the other end of the room. He’s still working on his essay, occasionally sighing and putting his fingers back to the keys.  
Even the gentle clacking of keys reminds Lance of home, when in the late hours of the night his father would be in the office next to Lance’s bedroom, typing away into the dead of night, lulling him to sleep. Lance sniffs, waits for the lump in his throat to settle. It doesn’t. Keith types again. Lance sniffs again, holds his breath, then bursts into tears.  
All of the loneliness pours out of him at once. He’s surprised it took this long, to be honest. Still, it doesn’t make it any easier when he sits up and presses his hands to his eyes, cringing at the thought of finally looking over at Keith. He sobs, curling in on himself, putting his back against the headboard and drawing his knees close. If he doesn’t move, maybe Keith won’t notice him. Maybe if he stops sobbing right now, he can pretend it never happened.  
“Lance?” Keith asks. Lance tries to calm himself faster, slowly peeling a hand from covering his eyes. Keith is still on his bed, fingers paused above the keyboard, looking at him with his mouth slightly open and his eyes wide and worried. Lance stares at him, terrified, before he bursts into tears again and covers his face.  
There’s a weight on the edge of Lance’s bed before Keith speaks again. “Hey, hey. Lance. What’s wrong?”  
Lance’s breath hitches twice before he can answer. “I just... _fuck_ I’m so lame. I miss...home...I miss my mom’s hugs...I miss Veradera beach and...m-my family.” Lance forces himself to look over at Keith, who has carefully perched himself on the edge of the bed. He’s biting the inside of his cheek, back stiff and looking around himself occasionally. And Lance can’t help but keep crying. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”  
“It’s okay,” Keith says automatically. There’s moment of silence, as Lance frantically tries to wipe away tears as they fall. “I’m sorry.” Keith says.  
“What?” Lance asks. How could he be sorry?  
“I’m sorry I don’t know what to say. I...can’t relate.”  
“You don’t miss home at _all_?” Lance can’t help the edge in his voice. If Keith tries to make him feel worse...  
Keith finally looks at him, and doesn’t look away. “I’ve only ever had foster parents, and none of them ever seemed to like me much. The ones I had last were all right—they hated the fact that I got kicked out of high school, but...now I’m here. So...Altea U’s the best home I’ve ever had, really.” Lance blinks. He didn’t know that. Keith wrinkles his nose, looking away again. “So...I don’t get how you could miss someone’s _hugs_.”  
Lance tries to laugh. “Then you’ve never had one of my mom’s hugs.”  
Keith is smiling slightly, his eyes less panicked and more gentle.  
“I saw your eyes were red and puffy like this before. On the first day, when you came back at night. I never said anything.”  
Lance tries to stifle his embarrassment. “Well, I was crying for the same reason back then.” He practically groans, cheeks flushing. “Because I’m really fucking lame.”  
“You’re not lame.” Keith says softly. “Your family really cares about you, if you care so much about them. But...this is your home for now. You need to get used to that.”  
Lance clenches his jaw, blinks tears away so he can see straight again. He wants to call Keith out for that, tell him _no, this can’t be his home,_ but he swallows his pride and nods. Keith is right.  
And then through a sob he grabs Keith by the shirt, pulling him into a makeshift embrace, crying into the shoulder of his stupid jacket. If he’s cried in front of Keith already, he can afford to embarrass himself even more. Keith stiffens a little, but after a moment he moves to softly hug Lance back. Lance moves closer, making himself as small as he feels. Keith is tense for a moment more before he relaxes a little, and Lance lets his head fit easily into the crook of Keith’s neck, his hair tickling the end of Lance’s nose. He stays there for what feels like hours, his breathing still hesitating to slow.  
Lance finally lets go and lies back down, turning over on his side. He feels Keith sits up straight again, hears him swallow in the silence. Lance forces himself to stare at the wall.  
“Sorry,” Lance says, biting his lip when it starts to quiver again. “I’ll go to bed.” His heart is beating faster than before, lying there knowing Keith is staring at him. Lance shuts his eyes and prays that Keith is kind enough to not mention this later. Or ever.  
But the weight stays on the edge of his bed. And then, so softly he might be imagining it, Lance feels fingertips on the back of his scalp, his entire body tensing, before melting when Keith gently combs his fingers through his hair. His mother used to do this when Lance couldn’t sleep, humming a song so soft he could barely hear it. Now he can only hear his own sniffling and the fan spinning above them. Eventually he feels the tears drying, letting his eyes slowly close.  
   
Lance hears the door close before his eyes snap open. Almost instinctively his gaze locks onto the empty bed across the room. Keith must have just left for training at the gym, even though it’s the weekend and any person in their right mind should sleep in. Lance looks towards the clock on his dresser—no, it’s nine in the morning. Keith would’ve already come back from training. Maybe he went to shower?  
Lance then finally looks directly in front of him, where there’s a strawberry mango smoothie sitting on his bedside table, condensation still on the plastic.  
   
Lance sets the empty smoothie cup down on the commons table, letting his gaze hesitate on it for a moment.  
Hunk is still sleeping, but Pidge has been wide awake for a while apparently, and had no problem meeting Lance in his pajamas in the commons at nine in the morning.  
Pidge is now operating an iPad in one hand and his laptop in the other, claiming to be doing some Galra research. Lance is too distracted to ask about it.  
“That’s so unlike him, you know? Like last night was already so weird and then... _this_ ,” Lance lifts the cup and waves it in front of Pidge’s glasses. “ _This_ is weird. Admit it.” When Pidge doesn’t look away from the screen, Lance sighs loudly, continuing. “Like, since when does Keith do something nice for someone? When does he do nice things for _me_? He’s out to get me, I know it.” Lance waits for Pidge to answer again.  
His friend looks up at him over the rim of his glasses before taking them off and cleaning the lenses with a napkin from his bagel.  
“He doesn’t hate you, Lance.”  
Lance nearly chokes on air. “Of course he does! We’re rivals.” He reaches for Pidge’s half-eaten bagel only to have his hand slapped away.  
“You _were_ rivals, Lance. If you’d even call it that. But isn’t that over?”  
Lance merely shrugs. He did hug Keith last night but...that was obviously a moment of weakness. Yes, he’s learned to be civil, but still...  
And then Pidge smiles right at him. “You don’t hate him either. ”  
Lance feels his cheeks suddenly burning. “Uhhhh _yeah_ I do!” Pidge raises his eyebrows. “Well...I used to really, _really_ hate him. But now we’re Voltron, and you can’t hate a fellow team member—”  
“That’s not why you tolerate him, Lance. You…” _Pidge, don’t you fucking dare_. “You enjoy him.” Lance opens his mouth to retort, but Pidge continues. “Come on, why don’t you do something nice for him in return? He was there for you last night and he brought you a smoothie, so you should be there for him. Show him you care about him.”  
“But I don’t—” Lance stops himself, suddenly struck with the feeling of Keith’s arms around him, his fingertips against his scalp. Then he starts thinking about the sweat along Keith’s brow when he gets home from the gym, how he counts on his fingers when doing his math homework, how he scowls at Lance whenever Lance starts singing show tunes....  
He kept Keith as his roommate. Because he...cares about him. He can at least do something small in return.  
Pidge has a hand under his chin, smiling, as Lance stumbles for words.  
“I’ll pay him back somehow.” He rubs a hand across his face. Pidge hasn’t moved. “...Stop staring at me.”  
   
As soon as Keith walks back into their dorm after eating lunch god-knows where, Lance stands up from his bed and forces himself to say it.  
“I’ll help you with your essay." Keith stands there for a second before shrugging his jacket off and placing his keys on the table next to the door. Lance swallows. “I’m a journalism major, so obviously I know how to write. And you got me a smoothie and dealt with me being a baby, so. I’ll help you.” Lance has his arms crossed and closes his eyes in satisfaction, waiting. After a second, Lance peeks. Keith is grabbing his laptop and his jacket again.  
“Okay.”  
   
They go to the campus library. Apparently Keith comes here often, because each of the librarians wave as he swipes his ID and walks inside. He gives a small wave back in their direction. Lance loudly says hello.  
“Wow, everything echoes in here.” Lance says, looking up and around the building, tall ceiling and shelves completely covered with books in every direction. He goes to cup his hands around his mouth, just to test out how much it _really_  echos in here, but Keith immediately grabs his wrist and drags him to a table.

As Lance proof-reads Keith’s essay, he easily changes half what he’s written so far. Keith gave him permission to do this, but Lance is all too aware of Keith’s eyes burning angry holes into the side of his head when Lance sighs and corrects the spelling of the word ‘probably’. He knows that Keith is a grade above him in his science and math classes, but he’s proven through this paper that he’s not the greatest when it comes to writing a convincing essay. Which is to be expected, he’s not that great with words in general.  
“You’re missing _another_ comma.” Lance says loudly a few minutes later. Two girls that Lance was eyeing earlier look up from their table to glare at him. Lance twiddles his fingers in return.  
Keith shushes him for the millionth time, taking the laptop from Lance’s hands to fix the mistake himself.  
“Keith, buddy, I’m gonna be honest with you. You might need to restructure this whole paper. The thoughts just aren’t coherent with each other, it feels like you just closed your eyes and threw facts at a wall.”  
Keith groans softly. “I know, I know! This is just a draft. I...I can change it.” Keith swallows.  
“Do you know _how_ to change it?” Lance asks. Keith slumps over, laying his head on the table in front of him.  
“No.”  
“Here. I’ll explain the easiest way to structure an assay.” Lance pulls a piece of paper out of his notebook, the ripping page echoing in the quiet. “Got a pen?”  
Keith pulls a pen out of his bag, the end of it chewed practically to a pulp.  
“Dude...gross.” Lance says, taking it. Keith glares at him, ripping it from his fingers.  
“Hey hey hey...I’m sorry.” Lance tries to look as apologetic as possible as he tips his head to the side. Keith finally moves to place the pen on the table in front of Lance at the same time Lance goes to reach for it, their hands brushing somewhere in the middle. Keith flinches, dropping the pen onto the table and pulling his hand back.  
Lance swallows, grabbing the pen. He feels like someone just jumpstarted his heart. Kill Bill sirens are repeatedly blaring in his head. Lance glances in Keith’s direction. His cheeks are blushing rose, his eyes practically sparkling in the light…  
Lance hates him. He _hates_ him. He would _fight_ Keith, given the chance. He would fight him...in mouth to mouth combat.  
Shit.  
Lance can't push away the sudden rush of shakiness that hits his hands after that, the way Keith leaning towards him to get a good look at the paper makes him want to melt into a puddle and soak through the floorboards. Lance takes in a breath and holds it every time their shoulders brush, afraid that if he breathes out again the moment might be gone.  
Shit. Just...shit.

  
“Pidge has a lead.” Allura says, leaning forward, hands pressed against her desk. “I knew we were smart to coerce you into this team, Pidge dear. Now, what did you find?”  
Pidge takes a deep breath before leaning forward in his chair. “Well there's a club a couple minutes from campus. It’s called Balmera. Lots of upperclassmen go there to hang out on weekends.”  
“Have you been there, Shiro?” Lance asks. He can’t really imagine Shiro being the type to go out clubbing, but he _was_ partying at the Delta Psi house. Which is the reason why he’s talking to Shiro in this office in the first place.  
Shiro nods in his direction. “Yeah, I have. It's nothing too special.”  
“You kids still hang out there?” Coran interjects.  
Shiro looks towards Coran, a little surprised. “Uh...yeah.”  
Coran leans back a little, twists his mustache between two fingers. “My, my...I used to go to the Balmera all the time! Enjoyed myself a little too much a few times.” Even Allura seems at a loss for words, for a moment. Lance does _not_ want to imagine Coran getting drunk and or getting laid. Coran seems to realize what he’s said a moment too late. “But uh...the fact that the place has kept its integrity since I went to Altea University is impressive. Anyway, Pidge, continue.”  
Pidge blinks a few times. “Uh...yeah, okay. So it seems that this could be one of the places they go to pick up new recruits. I've been looking through student profiles on every social media out there, and there's a couple people I've found suspicious. But the guy I’m most interested in said he’d be there this Saturday, so I thought—”  
“Well, who is it? We can take him in for questioning right now.” Keith suggests. “Right?”  
“Well, it’s just a lead right now.” Pidge says. “What if I’m wrong? What if we get this kid, bring him here, and then the Galra finds out? They’ll know we’re looking for them.”  
“Right.”  
“So there might be Galra members at this club. And we’re supposed to go there and hope that we find them?” Hunk asks. “That sounds...unnecessarily dangerous.”  
Allura stands up straight again, crossing her arms. “You can call or radio us if anything happens. We’ll be on standby a few blocks away.”  
“And what if we see Zarkon?” Hunk asks.  
“Then we kick his ass,” Answers Lance. “Duh.”  
   
Lance doesn’t know what the word Balmera means, but Club Balmera is _lit._ He’s a freshman in his first month of college life, but he’s already heard countless stories about all of the shit that goes down at the club. Then again, he doesn’t know much. It’s mostly an upperclassman hangout, because so many of them go there to get legally drunk instead of house parties with shady alcohol.  
So Lance finds himself feeling a little hesitant. His reputation as Coolest Guy in School better not be tarnished by the fact that he’s going here as a freshman. Even so, he dressed as cool as possible, even turning his baseball hat backwards for the final touch.  
Keith didn’t get the _look cool_ memo, apparently, because as Shiro drives them to the club, Lance surveys his outfit. Keith’s wearing a white v-neck instead of his black, but he’s still wearing that awful jacket and frayed jeans. And the _gloves_. Why the gloves? It doesn’t even look like he brushed his hair before they left. Lance should really offer to style his hair sometime.  
Lance turns away, swallowing. What kinda weird-ass thought was that?  
“Remember, everyone,” Shiro says, as they pull into the parking lot. Lance leans over Hunk’s lap to practically press his face against the backseat’s window. It’s _beautiful_ . It’s just a plain building with a neon sign, but it’s _beautiful_. Lance is practically bouncing in his seat. He’s going to have so much fun. Shiro continues. “We’re not here for fun. Don’t drink too much, don’t just dance all night. We’re here to pinpoint members of the Galra.”  
“But we can’t look _too_ suspicious,” Lance says carefully. “Just standing around and stuff. So...we can look like we’re normal kids... _partying._ ” Shiro stares at him in the rearview mirror.  
“What do we do if we find someone from the Galra?” Hunk asks, jiggling his leg anxiously. Lance reaches over and presses on his knee until it stops.  
“We alert the rest of the team.”  
“Are they even going to let Pidge in?” Keith asks. “He’s only sixteen, and he looks like he’s twelve.”  
“Hey!” Pidge shouts. Keith raises his hands defensively as Pidge whips around in his seat to face him. “They don’t need to know that.” Pidge doesn’t look more than twelve most of the time, but today he’s wearing only a baggy t-shirt and basketball shorts, both of which look too big on him. He looks like he’s fresh off the little-league team.  
“It’ll be fine.” Shiro assures them. “Just remember why we’re here.”  
   
Within minutes, Lance has forgotten why they’re there. The club is fucking awesome, by Lance’s standards. The DJ has played two Drake songs already, the girls won’t stop looking at him while he’s dancing, and Keith has broken a smile _twice_. Twice! Admittedly the first one was caused by Hunk, not Lance, when Hunk ordered fries and then made them into walrus tusks and barked like a seal. But the second was when Lance requested Cha Cha Slide from the DJ and was practically thrown out of the booth, only to be met by a smiling Keith, looking back at him from their table.  
“Worth a shot,” Lance said, walking back to the table, giving Keith a smirk. “Speaking of shots, how are we going to acquire some?”  
“Don’t get drunk, Lance,” Keith says, his smile fading. “We’re on a mission.”  
“I knoooow, but do you see any Galra around? Any masked figures lurking in the shadows? Because I don’t.”  
Keith rolls his eyes. “They won’t be wearing masks.”  
“And you won’t be wearing such an unhappy face if you come and dance with me.” Lance leans on the table. “Come ooooon, Keith. You’re a dancer, right? Let’s see what you got.”  
Lance glances at Hunk. He’s chewing his fries incredibly slow, staring at him. Pidge and Shiro return to the table, carrying their tragically un-alcoholic drinks.  
“Anything?” Keith asks, turning away from Lance's gaze.  
Shiro shakes his head. “Nothing out of the ordinary yet.”  
“I’m gonna keep monitoring the suspect’s social media. See if he’s up to anything,” Pidge says, pulling headphones and a laptop out of his bag.  
“Right here, Pidge?” Lance asks.  
“Fine...I’ll hide in the bathroom and do it.” Pidge gets up and walks towards the back of the club, just like that, laptop bag over his shoulder.  
“Shit.” Hunk says, covering his mouth. Great, is he gonna throw up again? Maybe they accidentally ordered him a rum and Coke instead of...no, Hunk’s looking at something. No, someone.  
Her thick hair is pulled into a coiled bun on her head, wearing a small black dress and her signature Rockette jacket. Shay looks...hot as fuck. No wonder Hunk nearly choked on his drink.  
“Go say hi!” Lance says immediately. Hunk looks at him like Lance has just told him to kill a man. “Come on, Hunk. It’s time for you to become a hunk-a-hunk-of _burnin’ love_.” Lance strums his invisible guitar, his Elvis impression making Keith break into a small smile again. Three smiles in _one night_? Lance proudly beams right back at him.  
Hunk slowly begins to nod before he stands.  
“...You’re right.” He takes in one breath before he stiffly turns and walks in Shay’s direction. Poor thing, hopefully he doesn’t pass out on the walk over there. Lance watches in suspense as Hunk gets her attention and says hello. Shay looks at him like it’s Christmas morning, and suddenly it’s like Hunk’s a different person. He gestures to a table and she follows, reaching for his hand as soon as they sit down, talking and smiling all the while. Damn, he makes it look easy. Even so, Lance is proud of his boy.  
“I’m gonna go survey the perimeter,” Shiro says, moving to stand up, grabbing his drink. Keith nods.  
“I will too.”  
“No you’re not,” Lance says, tugging on Keith’s jacket until he sits down again. “Come on, everyone knows good dancers get free drinks. We’ll clean this place out.”  
“All the better reason for me to not do that,” Keith says.  
“What, are you scared?” Lance asks. “Maybe you can’t dance after all.” Lance crosses his arms, waiting. He knows how Keith works. Now all he has to do is raise an eyebrow.  
Keith puts down his Coke. “Fine.”  
The crowd is so thick on the dancefloor that Lance can barely see how Keith is moving, all he can tell is that it’s a lot more on-rhythm than he is. But whatever, he feels more comfortable dancing in this crowd than sitting back at that table.  
Two guys turn toward him while he’s fist-pumping the air and join in, laughing as the song ends and offering to buy him a drink. Lance feels his heart lift, turning around to tell Keith the good news. But he’s gone, probably just a few people away in the crowd. Well, whatever. Free drinks! From cute guys! Lance doesn’t mind at all that they insist he’s adorable when he’s trying to show off. As they laugh at his bad dance moves, Lance is laughing too. And when one of them comes back with a can of beer for him, Lance chugs it. And so, song after song, Lance feels his worries lessen, the crowd around him dissipating into just himself and the music as he closes his eyes.  
   
Keith loses Lance after two songs, the crowd has grown so thick. And then he feels stupid, just dancing alone without Lance to watch him. So he swallows, shuffles past a guy carrying three shots in one hand into the crowd, and finally squeezes past the last couple people on the edge of the dancefloor. A little disoriented by all of the lights, he tries to find his way over to their table again. Shiro is already there, sipping on an orange soda through a straw, his legs crossed, surveying the room.  
“How was your patrol?” Keith asks.  
Shiro looks towards him, his eyes softening. “Uneventful. Thought it’d be better to just people-watch this way. Did you find anything on the dance floor?”  
Keith feels so stupid as he sits down. “No.” Keith swallows, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry, Shiro. I just...Lance just...I’ll get back to work, I promise.”  
“It’s okay, Keith.” Shiro says. The music is still blasting on the other end of the room, but at least he can hear his own thoughts again. But that also means Shiro’s able to turn to him and quietly talk to him like he’s talking to a first grader. “Listen, Keith. We haven’t had a moment to ourselves in a while. And when I saw you at the gym...you seemed like you didn't really want to talk. How are you? Are you doing okay?”.  
“I’m...fine.” Keith says, practically cringing. He has to just say it. “I didn’t think you wanted to talk to me, after I told my secret, or whatever.”  
“I’m not mad.”  
“Really?” Keith watches his face. How could Shiro not be mad at him? “ ...I didn’t even _graduate_ , Shiro.” Shiro closes his eyes for a moment, but when he opens them, he still doesn’t look upset.  
“Well...things happen.”  
“Things happen?” Keith can’t believe this. Shiro has to be faking this cool exterior. “The school counselor and I were on a first name basis. I used to smoke alone behind the gym after class, like a loser. I even punched a kid in the face and got suspended because he called me a f—” Keith’s voice sticks in his throat. He can’t say it. “And then I got expelled because of my discipline issues. Keith leans further in. “And I never contacted you...never answered any of your messages…never even said anything about your arm…and you’re not mad at me?”  
Shiro sets his jaw, looking away. “When I messaged you, I was just asking to play a match with you. To catch up.”  
“I know. I just...didn’t want to talk with anyone after everything. I didn’t want—”  
“To let me down?" Shiro looks back at him. "Trust me, Keith. You haven’t. Even if you don’t play tennis, I can still be your friend.”  
He places his hand on Keith’s shoulder, a smile at the edge of his lips. Slowly, Keith watches Shiro's gaze before he nods a few times.  
“Yeah.”  
Then Shiro lifts his eyebrows slightly before folding his hands in front of him. “So...Hunk is occupied with Shay, Pidge is probably just hiding in the bathroom eating those snacks he brought. And I haven’t seen anyone who looks to be anything but a college student on a night out. So...maybe I should just call Allura and tell her this was a bust.” Shiro pulls his phone from his pocket. “Besides, I have a feeling Lance is already drunk as hell.” Shiro stands up and wordlessly walks across the room, weaving through tables, his phone against his ear.  
Keith reaches for the few remaining fries in the basket, watching Shiro leave. Keith’s eyes then fall on Hunk and Shay at a table at the far end of the club, her mouth close to his ear and him blushing bright red as she leans into him. Keith lets out a small sigh, his gaze falling to the floor.

The last time Keith liked someone, he was a freshman in high school and it was the black-haired senior on the tennis team. They both liked Cowboy Bebop and Star Wars and winning tennis matches. Then the boy graduated, and they stayed in touch for a little while, until Keith got expelled. And then his high school crush’s arm got cut off.  
And now they’re both here, in a club, looking for terrorist gang members. And Keith now likes someone who’s drunk and hates him.  
His stare finally lifts from the floor. Why did Keith decide to go down memory lane again?  
He stands from the table, grabbing the empty fry basket and going on a mission. He walks over to the bar, the bartender smiling warmly at him and batting her eyelashes a few times as he orders another basket of fries. There’s a guy next to the bar who looks like he’s eyeing his jacket, before turning and saying something to the group of five guys around him. They look like a bunch of jocks, with buzzcuts and sleeve tattoos, Keith thinks that he’s actually seen a few of them at the gym before. As Keith waits for his order, leaning against the bar, they seem to be eyeing him more and more. Keith doesn’t know what to do. So he waves in their direction.  
“You look familiar, kid.” One of them says. He’s definitely the largest out of all of them, tattoos covering his upper half, winding up his neck. But the most prominent thing Keith notices about him is the glass eye that stares into his soul as Keith finds his gaze. His mutton chops make him look like he’s way too old to be here. He definitely doesn’t fit in with the dancing teens on the other side of the room. The others look a little younger, but all of them seem like they’re one word away from beating him to a pulp. Already.  
“Yeah, you were one of the kids at Delta Psi’s. Totally remember that jacket.” Another says. The guy’s beginning to smile at him, but it looks more like a sneer.  
Keith starts to feel his blood run cold. “Um. Yeah, I was there.”  
The one with the glass eye leans a little closer to him. “Yeah? Then why don’t you come sit with us for a spell? We can talk about what happened that night, how _crazy_ it was, right?” Keith’s fries arrive, and he anxiously shoves a handful in his mouth before he nods. This is one hundred percent a bad idea. But at the same time, this is what he wanted, right? These guys are definitely Galra members. If he just talks with them, maybe he can find out something useful. If not, at least when this is over he can call the detectives waiting a few blocks from here.  
So they walk him over to the corner of the club, to a table nearly hidden from sight by the rest of the room. The music is nearly muffled, the only people paying slight attention to them being the line to the bathroom. Keith tries his best to remain emotionless, lifting his chin and crossing his arms when they tell him to sit at the edge of the table.  
“So, tell us your name, kid.”  
“Keith.”  
Just as the glass-eyed one opens his mouth again, the one to his left interrupts. “Did you see the masked man at Delta Psi?”  
“Quiet, General Prorok!” He hisses. Keith’s breath hitches, Prorok recoiling and looking down at the table. The glass-eyed man then looks back at Keith.  
“Well, I’ll have to be frank, then. My name is Sendak, loyal servant of Emperor Zarkon. Vrepit Sa.” He bows his head in Keith’s direction, and Keith clenches his fists underneath the table, his blood beginning to boil. These really are Galra guys. “I was the man beneath the mask the night of rising. I saw you.” Keith clenches his fists under the table. This was the figure that threw the smoke bomb. That caused innocent people to pass out in the grass outside of a party. Keith presses his fingernails into his palms to hold himself back. “I _know_ you, Keith,” Sendak continues. “And I know you will make an excellent member of the Galra Empire.”  
This has to be some sort of twisted joke. No, a nightmare. Keith is practically laughing when he answers. “You want to make me a member?”  
“Of course,” Sendak answers. “The Galra currently monitors all aspects of Altea’s campus, and one of our members put in a special request to search for the dark haired boy who could run circles around the other men twice his size at the training center. They’ve watched you fence. Watched you train. I’ve heard that your combat skills are quite impressive, Keith.”  
“You’ve been watching me?” Keith feels like the room is shrinking around him. For the short time he’s been here, Altea University felt like home. Little did he know these monsters had been monitoring him like some sort of animal.  
Sendak smiles. “You should be honored, soldier. The search began because we knew when this moment came, when we told you we wanted you by our side, we’d be able to trust you. You will be a valuable piece to the Galra. We know that you’ve struggled to find your place in this world, Keith. But with the Galra, no one is alone. _Everyone_ has a place.”  
“Just wait until Zarkon meets you!” Another one of them chimes in.  
“You’ll take me to Zarkon?” Keith asks, his voice cracking slightly.  
Sendak chuckles softly to himself. “Well, after your initiation, of course. You have to receive the mark of the empire, take the oath, go through training.”  
The others nod along, Keith’s eyes flitting past all five of their faces. Wait...initiation? The mark of the—  
“What’s the mark of the empire?”  
Sendak narrows his eyes slightly before he cranes his head to look around. He then wordlessly pulls to collar of his t-shirt down to reveal some sort of symbol, a curved and pointed ‘x’, printed in dark purple ink on the center of his chest.  
Oh, fuck no. Keith’s had enough of this. He can’t do this.  
“And what happens if I don’t want to join the Galra?”  
Sendak lifts his shirt again, folds his hands in front of him. “Well...then you know too much already. And we’d have to make sure you never even think about the Galra ever again.”  
Okay, so they’ll kill him? Brainwash him? He barely even knows what the Galra is capable of. And he doesn’t want to imagine. Keith sees movement out of the corner of his eye, in the small sliver of the club he can see from his angle. And it’s him. Shiro. He’s still walking around, his drink in hand, patrolling around the club. Keith wants so badly to shout over to him, tell him _you were right, Pidge was right, they’re here_ , but he can’t move. Somehow Shiro’s eyes fall on him, freezing mid-step, before his gaze then moves quickly over to the men sitting so close to him. When Shiro looks back at him, Keith barely nods once, and Shiro immediately pulls out his phone. He better be calling Allura and Coran right now.  
“Hey, kid, the hell you looking at?” Keith whips his head back to Sendak, but the man is already craning his head over to get a better look into the club. Shiro’s still on his phone, and when he notices that Sendak is looking at him, pivots until he’s looking the other way.  
“Are you trying to pull some shit on us?” Prorock asks, pounding a fist on the table. As the others interject with their own shouts pointed towards him, Keith feels it. There’s a knife pressing against his knee. Across the table, Sendak grins.  
“I should’ve expected something like this.”  
“I—”  
“I’m going to walk over there with you, and you’re going to tell your friend everything is fine. Tell him that you made some new friends and you’ll meet him later.” The knife presses harder. Keith stands. After a moment, Sendak stands too, towering over him. Keith takes a shaky breath before he and Sendak walk back into the light.  
And there’s Shiro, back turned to them for a moment, phone still to his ear, before he looks over his shoulder. He freezes for a moment, before he says something into the phone and hangs up, turning towards them.  
“Hey, Shiro.” Keith starts.  
“Cut the shit, I know who you are.” Shiro says, his tone unlike anything Keith’s ever heard. Shiro takes a step toward Sendak, inches shorter than him, but still looking down at him over his nose. “You’re trying to make my friend become part of the Galra.” Keith holds his breath, screaming on the inside. _What the hell is he doing?_ Two out of the five members of Voltron are gonna get murdered if he keeps this up. Even so, Shiro looks so determined, so indifferent to Keith staring at him like he’s crazy. “And I want in too.”  
Sendak fumbles for words for a moment. “...Oh.”  
Shiro nods curtly. “Could we talk in a more private place?”  
“Of course.” Sendak stutters, nodding with him, and with that Shiro walks past them towards the back of the club.  
Keith stares at the back of Shiro’s head as his pulse races. What is he thinking? They walk back to the table, where Sendak tells the rest of the Galra members to follow him. And then Shiro leads them towards the bathrooms, before he takes a left into a small hallway. Keith can still hear the pounding baseline of the music, but other than that the hallways is eerily dark and quiet. Before they hit the door to outside, Shiro finally turns and looks back at the men following him, gaze straight ahead.  
Sendak crosses his arms. “Alright. State your name.” Shiro opens his mouth to answer before there’s a shout from the end of the hall.  
“Hey, assholes!” Keith turns, along with everyone else, and Pidge is standing there, backlit at the mouth of the hall. Within seconds, three more figures rush to stand beside him—Hunk, Shay, and a very, very drunk Lance. It’s clear that Lance wouldn’t be able to stand upright on his own if he tried, using Hunk’s shoulder as a support. Keith feels strange butterflies flutter through his stomach after catching a glance of Lance’s silhouette. But they’re gone in a moment, replaced with a heavy sense of dread, weighing him down at the same time someone grabs Keith’s arms and pins them behind his back.  
Keith struggles to free his hands, turning back around just in time to see Shiro run forward and punch one of Sendak’s goons in the nose with his prosthetic. The man stumbles back, blood pouring over his fingers. And then there’s chaos, Keith still struggling to escape as his friends at the end of the hall run forward into the chaos. Keith watches for Lance, until he catches sight of him in the dim light, just in time to see someone merely push him to the side, another one of the men grabbing Pidge around his middle.  
“Get em outside!” Sendak yells before Shay kicks him in the nuts. But then Keith feels himself being pulled backwards towards the door. He fights it, but his captor pushes the door open and the fresh air hits Keith’s face as he strains to see the dark world around him. He’s in the back alley, the light from the street only barely illuminating the building from which he came. He struggles harder, shouting for help, the man holding him pressing his hand to Keith’s mouth.  
Then Pidge comes out of the door, arms still around his middle, screaming profanities and hitting the burly man’s arms with his fists. The man merely throws him to the ground next to a pile of trash bags.  
“Pidge!” Keith shouts.  
The man with the bloody nose drags Shiro outside, both his arms pinned like Keith’s. Then Hunk and Shay emerge from the door, Shay holding one of the Galra goons in a headlock as Hunk is holding his arms. The man is coughing like crazy, and Shay’s hair has started to fall out of her bun, but Hunk looks at her like she’s the greatest thing on Earth as they struggle to get the man down the stairs. Finally, Sendak kicks open the door, holding a knife to Lance’s throat. Keith feels his stomach drop, the chaos around him falling away.  
There’s a moment of silence, where all Keith can feel is his pulse pounding in his head. Keith looks around for anything to stop this stalemate. There’s a pile of boxes and trash to his left, and a couple of planks of plywood on his right.  
Then Lance speaks. “We’re fuckin Voltron, man. And no matter what you do, we’re gonna take you Galra fuckers down.”  
Keith knows Sendak’s going to kill him. He’s going to kill him and Lance is too drunk to fight back.  
But instead, Sendak cocks his head. “ _Voltron_ ? What does that even _mean_?”  
Lance laughs. Actually laughs. “It means we’re the defenders of the fuckin universe, dude. We’re legendary. So tell Zarkon that!” And just as Sendak’s grip has slightly loosened, Lance stomps on Sendak’s foot, the knife falling from his fingers. Lance then jabs an elbow into Sendak’s stomach, wrestles out of his grip, and then immediately stumbles and collapses down the stairs. Keith takes that as his cue, stepping on his captor’s foot, wrestling out of his grip and punching him in the face before rushing toward the plywood beside him. He grabs a plank, turns it over in his fingers like a tennis racket, and braces to swing.  
The man who had thrown Pidge is now charging towards Lance, and Keith runs towards him, teeth bared, and forgetting all of his fencing etiquette, swings the plank like a bat right into his head, the man falling to the side with a grunt. Behind him, Keith hears someone cry out. Shiro is standing over Prorok, his fists still clenched. Finally it seems like Shay’s had enough of this, because she removes her headlock and kicks the last henchman to the ground. All that’s left is Sendak, still at the top of the stairs, beginning to stand up again.  Hunk rushes to help Pidge to his feet, and Keith bends down to lift Lance into his arms.  
“...You really think you can do this? Zarkon will know about this!” Wordlessly, Shiro walks up the stairs and jams a taser into Sendak’s side. Sendak cries out, before he falls over in a fit of spasms. Keith’s mouth falls open. Shiro had a taser. Allura and Coran actually gave him a taser.  
Suddenly Keith hears rustling behind him, and as he turns one of Sendak’s goons is already booking it down the alley. Prorok helps another one of the men to his feet, looking Keith in the eye.  
“The empire was wrong about you. You’re just as brain dead as the rest of them.” His eyes are burning with hatred, spitting into the dirt at his feet.  
And then they turn and run, just before Keith hears the chirp of a police car on the other end of the alley. Within a minute Allura, Coran, and a few other officers come rushing towards them, flashlights in hands.  
“How’d you know we’d be here?” Hunk asks as an officer cuffs a now-docile and groaning Sendak.  
“Shiro called me before he told Pidge to round you guys up.” Allura says. “Said he’d try to get you guys into the alley out back. Good thinking.” She says, nodding in Shiro’s direction. Her eyes then fall down onto Keith, who still has Lance’s unconscious body leaning against him.  
“Again?” She asks.  
Keith can only nod as Lance grumbles in his sleep.  
Suddenly there’s a person kneeling down to his level, reaching out her hand. Shay is softly smiling, even after anything.  
“Hi, Keith. I’m Shay. Hunk has already told me a lot about you.” Keith tries to smile at her, shaking her hand.  
“Nice to meet you. This is Lance.” Keith tilts up the boy in his arms for her to get a better look. “He’s not usually this quiet.” She raises her eyebrows a little.  
“Hello, Lance.” She says. Keith then sees Hunk over her shoulder, as he bends down too.  
“Great first date idea, Hunk.” He says. Shay laughs lightly, looking down.  
“Well, I don’t think I’ll be forgetting it anytime soon.”  
After a few minutes, the officers lift Sendak to his feet, practically dragging him towards a squad car. They watch him go, staring into the all too familiar blue and red lights against the darkness.  
“What’s gonna happen to him?” Pidge asks.

They take Sendak into custody, with not much word of what else will happen to him. Team Voltron piles back into Shiro’s car and experiences their first silent drive together, save for Lance’s snoring. Shiro drops them off at the same place Allura had a week before. And, just the same as before, Lance is just now regaining enough consciousness to sort of stand.  
“Good work tonight, everyone.” Shiro says, before he pulls away from the curb. “Be careful.”  
Everyone’s still exhausted, still shaken up from everything. So they say a quick goodbye, Hunk and Pidge walking slowly towards the opposite side of campus. They look sort of sad, just shuffling along underneath the streetlamps.  
“Hey,” Keith calls out to them. They both turn back to face him. “We couldn’t have done all this without you guys. And we sure wouldn’t have gotten Sendak.” Keith doesn’t know why his heart is swelling in fondness for two people he barely knows. “So, thanks for saving me.”  
“Right back at you!” Hunk calls. And then he and Pidge wave back at him as they walk.  
“Goodnight!” Pidge shouts. Keith smiles, waving one more time.

And so, the moment’s finally come. It’s time for Keith to help Lance drunkenly walk home. Again.  
“I told you not to get drunk.” Keith hisses through his teeth as they shuffle along. Lance mumbles something under his breath. “What?”  
“M’not that drunk,” Lance drawls.  
“Oh yeah? Then I’ll let you walk on your own then.” Keith stops walking, shrugs Lance’s arm off of him, and after a second Lance slumps to the ground.  
“Owie.” Lance whines. Keith rolls his eyes, watching his roommate struggle to sit up. “Carry me,” Lance says, reaching up towards Keith like a toddler. Keith stares at him for a moment, but then he sighs. Lance can only be what, a hundred sixty pounds? The kid might be tall, but his legs are still as thick as toothpicks. Keith leans down and picks Lance up off of the ground, honeymoon style. “You’re strong…” Lance murmurs, looping his arms around Keith’s neck and leaning his head against him. As they walk, Keith feels something tickling his neck, flinching away from it before he realizes it’s Lance.  
“Hey—what’re you doing? Stop touching my hair.”  
“I like it,” Lance says, as he tucks a piece of it behind Keith’s ear. “It’s nice.”  
“You like my hair?” Keith asks, laughing in disbelief. “You really are drunk.”  
It’s nice to walk like this, Keith has to admit, as Lance sleepily plays with his hair. But when they reach the dorms, he has to place Lance back on his feet so they can walk through the halls like relatively normal people. Lance does pretty well, given his state.  
And then the challenge of the stairs appears. With every step Lance is stumbling back and forth, gripping Keith’s arm for support before eventually silently lacing their fingers together. Keith has to remind himself that if they weren't holding hands, Lance would be tumbling backwards down the stairs. That’s why Lance is gripping his hand so tight. That’s why Lance is so close to him.  
“Wait up,” Lance says too loudly as Keith practically drags him down the hall to their dorm room. “You’re strong and you walk too fast.” Lance says.  
“Shh, Lance. People are sleeping.” Keith shoves his key in the lock and turns it just as Lance’s grip on his hand tightens, Lance’s thumb running back and forth across his skin.  
“Keith...I lied. When I said I didn’t like your hair I was lying.”  
“So you’ve told me,” Keith says softly. He opens the door of their room and walks inside, Lance following close behind.  
“I was lying the whole time! Isn’t that crazy? It’s actually really nice. And I like your smile...your eyes...why are you so pretty all the time?” Keith backs up a few feet, but Lance is still holding onto his hand, stepping closer, until he's only a few inches away. Keith looks up at him, Lance's eyes slightly glazed, cheeks flushed pink. They’re standing so close. Lance is so drunk. Keith hears his heartbeat in his ears as Lance reaches up to tuck his hair behind his ear again.  
“You’re so pretty I could hate you...” Lance whispers, the only somewhat in-character thing he’s said all night, before Lance takes one last shaky step forward and kisses him. Keith forgets what it's like to breathe. Lance’s hand moves behind Keith’s head, pulling him closer, their hands still laced together. Lance is still very drunk and very unsteady, leaning too far until Keith loses his footing, tripping backwards until his head knocks against the wall.  
“Oops,” Lance says, giggling to himself, as he breaks the kiss. Lance is looking at him, all dopey and smiling. Shit. Keith has wanted this. He’s had dreams of five different versions of this moment over the past few weeks but this...this is _real_ ...this is _happening_...and Lance is so drunk.  
“Hey, hey. Lance. You have to stop.” Keith says. "You're drunk."  
Lance merely shrugs, beaming at him in the dark. Lance has never smiled at him before. Keith nearly loses his train of thought. “Come on, Keith. Don’t be lame. Let me kiss you.”  
And then Lance goes for his neck, and Keith feels like he actually might be dying with how much he wants this. But still, he pushes his hands against Lance’s chest.  
“Stop.” Keith swallows once, taking a step back. Lance unsteadily stands up straight, looking at Keith like he might cry. Keith clenches his jaw for a moment. “If you wake up tomorrow and you still want me, I give you full permission to kiss me again.”  
Lance sighs, stepping forward and leaning down so his head rests against Keith’s shoulder.  
“Okay, fine.”  
“Now let’s go to bed, yeah?”  
Lance almost immediately collapses into his bed with that, and Keith slowly lies down on his own, leaving even his shoes on. He doesn't sleep for hours, watching the ceiling fan turning slowly, listening to Lance breathe.  
   
Lance’s first thought when he wakes up is _I’m gonna throw up._ He forces his limbs to push him out of bed as he rushes to stand up, but the nauseousness passes just as quickly as it came. And then he’s left there, standing in the middle of his dorm in his full outfit from last night, with no memory of the past twelve hours.  
“Shit. Um. Keith?” Lance asks. He looks towards his roommate’s bed. Keith is sprawled out, above his covers, wearing all of his clothes too. Was it that late of a night or was this some sort of Twilight Zone shit? God, why can't he remember?  
Lance rushes over to Keith’s bed, too impatient for this. He reaches for Keith’s shoulder, shaking him awake. Keith flinches before he opens his eyes.  
“Lance?” Keith asks. A hint of a smile starts to creep into his surprised face.  
Lance looks away from him, standing again. “Sorry. I had to wake you up. I just...wow, this is gonna sound so dumb but…” Lance turns to look at him again. Keith is sitting up already, leaning forward slightly. Lance blinks a few times. He doesn’t know what Keith’s so excited about. Lance pauses, before he sighs. “What happened last night? Did we find any Galra dudes?”  
Keith’s eyes widen slightly, before he ducks away from Lance’s gaze. Keith rubs his eyes, then the back of his neck. His voice seems strained as he answers.  
“Yeah, we did.”  
Just as Lance opens his mouth again, his phone buzzes from his pocket. Lance fumbles for it, accepting the call just as he sees Pidge's name on the screen. Lance answers as chipper as ever, but Pidge's voice is panicked as he tells Lance to pull up the Altea U website. Lance goes to ask more, but Pidge tells him to simply do it before hanging up.

  
“You don’t think…” Lance says a minute later as Keith grabs his laptop from his desk.  
“It’s another message.” Keith says, his hands moving quickly across his keyboard. "It has to be."  
Sure enough, there’s another link posted at the bottom of the Altea website. Keith hesitates to click on it.  
“Just do it,” Lance says, even though he wants nothing more than for Keith to throw his laptop out the window right about him. His heart is pounding as the video loads.  
Zarkon. It’s the same mask, but this time there’s another figure next to him, wearing a hood over their mask, light hair falling down their shoulders. Zarkon’s robotic, warbled voice had already wedged its way into Lance’s nightmares before, and with every word Lance feels the icy fear creep up the back of his neck. This can’t be real.  _What the hell happened last night?_  
“—Voltron is the weapon that the law has decided to use against us. Five boys, brainwashed by the system we so greatly despise, have chosen to pick a fight with us. And in their foolish attempts, they have taken one of our finest soldiers, the Great Sendak.” Keith tenses up at that name. Lance searches Keith’s face, before trying to look through his own memory. They captured Sendak last night. He doesn’t remember how. But now the Galra knows who they are. “But even through this tragedy, we find more determination than ever. And I stand before you all today to say that the Galra is unstoppable, and Voltron is a mere bug we still need to crush. We will destroy you, Voltron. Vrepit sa.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi! Sorry for being so late on this chapter- I thought that I'd finish chapters three, four and five beforehand and post them within days of each other but that turned out to be waaaay too big of a project for me right now. So here's chapter three before I leave for a week long vacation, where I'll hopefully find time to finish up the last two chapters! (And I should be able to post them days apart when I get back). So, the conclusion to this fic will be coming in a week! In the meantime, if you wanna leave a kudos/comment, that'd be awesome. :) thank you!
> 
> also, as of right now I JUST finished this chapter, and don't really feel like going through and editing one last time, so if there were any mistakes, I apologize in advance. I'll come back and clean this up in a bit!


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